


I Do Sing For You

by lightyears



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:58:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 40,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyears/pseuds/lightyears
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of short one shots, some smutty, some not. If you want to send in prompts you can message me at <a href="http://bisexualbellamyblake.tumblr.com/">bisexualbellamyblake</a></p><p><i><b>My next few prompts will be smutty, just a psa</b></i><br/><b>Chapter 22:</b> Bellamy teaches Clarke how to drive the rover and things get smutty<br/><b>Chapter 23:</b> Clarke has a beard kink and Bellamy has a beard<br/><b>Chapter 24: </b> Fighting becomes fucking, canonverse<br/><b>Chapter 25: </b> Cunnilingus, follow up of ch21 accidental drunk love confession</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kiss me, quick!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My take on the classic "kiss me, quick" trope, which I will literally never get sick of.

“Kiss me, quick!”

Bellamy turns to the familiar voice, not sure why he’s surprised to find Clarke standing next to him at the bar, expression urgent, a fire in her eyes that he’s come to know and love; one that could convince him of just about anything. 

“Clarke?” He asks dumbly, all too aware of Miller standing on his other side, of their friends sitting in a booth close by, no doubt watching the interaction intently. If there’s one thing he knows about his friends, it’s that they’re waiting for him and Clarke to get together with bated breath. 

Her expression softens, smile kind. She brings her hand up to cradle his cheek, thumb stroking the day old stubble he hasn't shaved because despite her complaints about the roughness, he knows she loves it.

“Trust me,” she says, voice silky smooth and spreading a warmth through his chest he’s become accustomed to but somehow still manages to get his heart racing. “Kiss me.”

And he doesn’t need to be told twice (well, three times), leaning into the gentle touch of her palm and letting her guide him down to her lips. Her lips, which he imagined for over a year before he finally got to feel. Her lips, which he first tasted three months ago in this very same bar. Her lips, which are a perfect combination of soft but firm, receptive but leading. Her lips, which he’s had to stop himself from capturing for months in public. Her lips, which he’s fallen in love with almost as much as he’s fallen for the girl they're attached to.

She slides her hand into his hair, nails scratching against his scalp and making him melt into her. He pulls her into his chest, needs to feel her curves against his body, because they spend early mornings like this, bright winter light creeping through the blinds, and also late nights, their forms captured by darkness, but it’s still never enough. He'll never get enough of kissing Clarke, of feeling her pressed against him.

She sighs into his mouth, all easy content as he parts her lips with his tongue, deepening the kiss until he can taste the vodka cranberry she’s been drinking. And it’s easy to get lost in it; just the slow slide of their mouths against each other, tongues warm and wet as they move together in perfect harmony. Everything else fades until it’s just Clarke and him, and something in his stomach unties, something in his shoulders relax, something in his heart shifts and it’s all a hundred times better, because yes, keeping it a secret was a smart decision which they both agreed upon, but _god_ he wants to kiss her like this any time he can, even when it happens to be in front of their highly invested friendship group.

She tilts her head to pull her lips from his, and he naturally chases them, because he’ll follow her anywhere he can. He can feel her smile when he brushes over her mouth lightly once more, and when she speaks next he hears it in her voice.

“See, I told you to trust me.”

“I always trust you, Clarke,” he tells her seriously, voice rough with a mixture of emotions. Longing, relief, happiness, lust, love. He pulls away to look at her, finding her gaze already on him, smiling at him so damn fondly. “But in the interest of full disclosure, what was that about?”

Her smile widens and her eyes shine bright and god, he really, really loves her. It feels like too much too soon but he can’t stop himself, and every passing second he spends with her his heart grows just a little bit more.

“Raven, Jasper, Wells and O said they’d give me a hundred bucks if I came up and kissed you.”

Bellamy chuckles, glancing towards the booth their friends are sitting in, a mixture of wide eyes and slack jaws and victorious grins and bubbling laughter.

“A hundred bucks? They wanted this to happen more than I thought.”

Clarke giggles, runs her fingers through his hair again. “I told you not telling them would be a good idea,” she says, a little coy. But then she straightens, gets more serious. “But I wanted to as well, Bell. I thought - well, I thought it was time. I’m sick of not being able to be with you in public.”

Bellamy closes his eyes, lets his smile grow in a way he hasn’t let it with her when their friends around. He knows what he looks like - so fucking gone for her - and if anyone saw him grinning at Clarke like that they’d call them out in a second flat. But they’re going to find out anyway, so he may as well let himself go.

“Me too,” he says after a moment, opening his eyes. “Me too, Clarke.”

She lets out a breath of relief, and her eyes are honestly dazzling when she continues. “There was one more thing I needed to do.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, a glint of steely determination shining through. “I also had to tell you that I love you.” Bellamy swallows, thick, tries to stop himself from feeling a surge of hope run through his chest and hold every part of him to attention. “I wouldn’t have done any of this if it wasn’t true. I - I do, Bellamy.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, breathless despite his best efforts, his grip on her waist tightening. Every part of him soars, his world tilts and _this is it,_ because Clarke’s next words are the best he’s ever heard. 

“Yes,” she says with the kind of conviction he could never question, eyes bright but serious as they bore into his own. “I love you, Bell. I just - I love you.” 

He grins, hands moving from her waist to cradle her face instead, and she looks both nervous and hopeful when he tucks a lock of golden hair behind her ear, which is ridiculous because _how could she not know?_

“I love you too, Clarke,” he says, the sincerity of the words overwhelming even after the weeks he’s known they’re true. “I love you, too.”

Her face breaks into a grin, and she’s giggling when he pulls her in for another kiss, and Bellamy swears he’s never tasted anything as sweet as Clarke Griffin’s laughter on his lips before.


	2. We're definitely breaking a road rule here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from bellamysking: we haven't seen each other for two weeks and I'm desperate so let's have sex in the car.  
> Smut, defs rated E.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look alessa, I wrote smut that wasn't ridiculously long!!!!!!

“Clarke,” Bellamy says, strained, a hand leaving the steering wheel to catch hers from where it’s creeping up the inseam of his jeans. “If you keep doing that I’m going to have to pull over.” 

Clarke grins, smug and victorious, and leans into his neck again, pressing hot and wet open mouthed kisses onto his skin. Her hand continues moving despite his grasp on it, higher and higher, just light and teasing, but it’s been _two weeks_ and it’s enough to already get him half hard.

Let it be said that leaving your boyfriend-turned-fiancee just a week after he proposes for a two week work conference leaves you more than just sad with a longing heart. It leaves you fucking _horny._ Which, okay - Clarke and Bellamy are very much into sex, pretty much always, but We Just Got Engaged sex has been fucking _phenomenal,_ and getting only a week of it before travelling to the other side of the country has truly been difficult.

So as soon as Clarke saw the familiar mop of hair in the crowd at the airport, a bright grin lighting up Bellamy’s face as she came running towards him - luggage and other travellers be damned - a tingling warmth spread through her body and she knew she wouldn’t last long. She at least thought that she’d manage until they got home, but it’s a forty minute drive and at the fifteen minute mark she grew impatient, eyes wandering his body with interest, hands following and feeling the taut muscles of his arms and shoulders. 

Clarke unzips his jeans, rubbing her hand against him over his briefs until he curses, jerking into her touch slightly. She grins again, pressing sweet, chaste kisses to his shoulder while freeing his cock from any more constraints. She licks her palm before wrapping it around his hard length, stroking it slowly but firmly to get him throbbing in her hand. Flicking her thumb across the tip just like she knows drives him crazy, she detaches her lips from his neck and unbuckles her seat belt, moving so her mouth is hovering over his lap.

“Clarke,” Bellamy says again, still strained but with a hint of a warning in it. "We're definitely breaking a road rule here."

She licks the tip of his cock, revelling in the salty taste of him, and looks up at him coyly.

“More than one, I'm sure,” she says innocently. “Come on, Bell. It’s dark and nobody else is on the roads.” She takes a long lick up his length, sucks lightly at the head. “Tell me this isn’t a fantasy of yours.”

“Fuck,” he swears, a hand moving to her hair while the other stays firmly on the steering wheel. “Fuck, okay.”

Clarke doesn’t respond, instead getting to work and moving her lips over his cock. He’s hot and heavy as she takes him in her mouth, sliding up and down, tongue taking long, wet licks before swiping across the head. He maintains a firm grasp of her hair, keeping it mostly out of face in the slightly awkward angle, which she absently thinks is very kind of him, while the more forefront thought is how much she loves it when he pulls her hair. His groans and sighs, the way he calls her name, breathy and appreciative, spur her on to no end, and a wetness pools at her pussy that has her squeezing her thighs together tightly. 

“ _Fuck, baby,_ ” Bellamy moans as she deep throats him. His hand leaves her hair and she feels the car veer to the side and slow to a stop, and then he’s pulling her off him. Before she can protest he tugs her in for a kiss, hot and wet and fucking dirty, all longing and desire as their tongues sweep across each other. “Back seat,” he growls. “ _Now._ ”

Clarke nods, scrambling out of her seat and opening the car door so she can meet him in a slightly larger space of the car. Bellamy hasn’t done up his pants for the short journey outside, simply covering his erection with his teeshirt, and when he gets in the back seat with her he doesn’t hesitate to kiss her again. 

Clarke moans into the kiss, leaning back on the car seat as Bellamy crowds above her. She can feel his cock pressing against her stomach, and one hands darts back down to continue stroking him while the other finds purchase around his shoulders. Bellamy tugs on her leggings the best he can from the position, and when it proves to be too difficult he curses as he breaks their kiss, meeting Clarke’s laughter with a glare. He moves back, allowing her the room to pull her leggings and panties over her ass before he pulls them off her completely, along with her sandals.

He’s cradled in her hips the second they’re off, stealing her breath away with another kiss. Her hand finds his cock again, guiding it to to her cunt and letting him feel just how wet she already is from anticipation and lust. 

“Jesus, Clarke,” he breathes out, head dropping onto her shoulder. “How are you already so fucking wet?”

“It’s been two weeks, Bell,” she says, moaning when she moves the head of his erection against her clit. Then she’s angling her hips up so he can begin pushing in, not wanting to wait any longer. She’s waited long enough. “I’ve missed you.”

He leans back up to look at her, smile soft despite the black depths of his eyes, pupils blown wide with desire. 

“Two weeks too long,” he says, low and gravelly. “I missed you, too,” and then he’s pushing into her, stretching her and filling her up unbelievably, and Clarke’s eyes flutter shut at the sheer satisfaction of it all. 

He catches her lips for another kiss as he pulls out and thrusts in again, hard, not even pretending he’s going to take this slow because she knows he’s already close from her earlier work. And she’s already close from the five four flight in which her imagination went wild; fantasies that definitely weren't appropriate when she was sitting next to an old lady, and that was _before_ she even got to suck his cock. So really, it’s not surprising that they’re meeting each other with desperate thrusts in a matter of minutes, chasing pleasure as they pant into each other’s mouths, kissing messily whenever they remember how much they’ve missed each other. 

“Bell,” she whines with the increasing pressure in her core, the pleasure tingling her whole body close to reaching a peak. She wraps her legs around him more tightly, needing him pressed close to her because two weeks is much too long not to have him like this. “I’m so fucking _clo-ose._ ”

“I can feel it, Clarke,” he pants, nosing her neck. “Play with your clit for me, baby. I wanna come together.”

Clarke nods, sucking on her fingers before reaching down to rub her clit in tight circles, desperate to fall over the edge. Sharp jolts of pleasure run up her spine and she moans, Bellamy capturing the sound quickly as he fucks her faster and faster, and then she’s clenching around his cock, trembling beneath his warm chest, coming harder than she’s been able to by herself these past weeks without him. 

Blissful release rolls through her in waves, curling her toes and squeezing her thighs tight around his hips, and Bellamy follows her while she’s still riding it out, cock pulsing hot deep within her. 

He slumps over her when they’ve both reached the end of their climaxes, absolutely spent but still trying to hold his weight off her body. He’s panting and sweaty and sticky above her, skin hot where it meets hers, and just fucking - _here with her,_  and she never wants to leave him again.

She wraps her arms around his back, pulls him so they’re chest to chest, and despite the clothing between them she still feels _him,_ and she loves him more than she ever thought possible. Missed him about the same amount. 

“Never let me leave again,” she sighs into the small space between their faces. “I missed you too much.”

Bellamy’s face lights up, eyes bright and full of love when he leans down quickly to kiss her again, sweet and chaste.

“I’ll never let you leave again,” he promises, and even though they both know it’s not true it brings a warmth to her chest, knowing that parting is just as difficult for him as it is for her. That he loves her just as much as she loves him. “I missed you too much.” 


	3. Bellamy Junior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Bellamy talk baby names.

“Phoebe?”

“I like Phoebe.”

“Okay, I’m adding it,” Clarke says, jotting down the name on the growing list. “We’ve now got fourteen for girls and five for boys.”

Bellamy hums, nosing her neck like he loves to do when they spend mornings in bed together. “Does that mean we’re betting on a girl or a boy?”

“I don’t know. You want a girl, though,” she says knowingly, glancing up to shoot him a smug grin.

“I know how to raise a girl,” Bellamy replies, a little defensively, and Clarke has to stifle a laugh at that. “Shut up.”

She giggles, snuggling further into his chest because she knows he can never resist that, and his arms wrap around her middle more tightly, hands rubbing soothing circles on her large belly. He presses a kiss onto the column of her neck and she sighs, tilting her head back onto his shoulder so his lips can reach hers instead.

“Maybe we can just go _Gilmore Girls_ style; name the baby after me. Clarke works for a girl _and_ a boy so it’s kind of perfect.” 

“So does Bellamy, you know.”

“Well you should’ve thought of that first, then,” she teases, squeaking when a hand moves down her belly to pinch her thigh. “Mature.”

“That’s me.”

“Clarke junior. CJ. We could be all _come on CJ, have you finished your homework yet?”_

“We can do that for Bellamy junior, too.”

Clarke scoffs, shifting so she can face Bellamy.  “Bellamy junior? You want us to call our child _BJ?_ That’s just _cruel,_ Bellamy. Everyone will be like _hey BJ, can you give me a BJ?”_

“Maybe our kid will love giving blowjobs,” Bellamy says, barely keeping the laughter from his voice. “You don’t know them, Clarke.”

She flicks him on the forehead, glaring. “That’s our unborn baby you’re talking about.”

“Hey, like mother like child,” he says, bursting into a fit of laughter when he sees her outraged expression. “Oh, come on, babe.”

He winds his arms back around her even as she pushes him away, and soon enough he’s got Clarke on her back as he hovers over her. He leans down slowly, and she knows he’s giving her time to resist incase she’s actually angry, but she’s not, so she lets him press his lips to hers in a slow, soft kiss. Her hands move up to cradle his face, keeping him there so she can swipe her tongue against the seam of his lips and deepen the kiss. She hums against his mouth when they finally part, and he shifts back so he can gaze at her, eyes full of love and awe. 

“I don’t love giving blowjobs,” she says softly, a little bit petulant.

Bellamy laughs lightly, tucking a stray golden curl behind her ear. “Are you sure about that, princess?”

“Yes,” she responds, pouting. “I don’t love giving blowjobs, I love giving _you_ blowjobs. I’ve got a very specific target audience for my enthusiastic blowjob giving.” 

Bellamy grins, wide and bright. “I didn’t think talking about blowjobs could be so sweet.”

She rolls her eyes. “We were _actually_ talking about our child, remember?”

“Ah, right,” Bellamy says, teasing, as he rubs Clarke’s belly. “Little BJ in there.”

“CJ, I think you mean.”

“I guess we’ll see which one of us wins out in the end,” he tells her before shutting up any response with another kiss, and then they forget all about baby names for the next hour or so.

Clarke goes into labour four days after their conversation, at the crack of dawn, and nine hours later she’s cradling a tiny baby girl in her arms; big brown eyes with a mop of dark hair just like her father. Bellamy’s right by her side, tear tracks down his cheeks as he whispers how much he loves Clarke and their child into her ear, and while she’s dead tired, the memory of the hours of pain still very clear in her mind, she’s never been as happy as she is in that moment.

(Both BJ _and_ CJ are crossed off the list pretty quickly after that, because they aren’t _monsters,_ and when Julia Aurora is introduced to her aunt Octavia it seems pretty fitting.

“Nerd,” Octavia says, sniffling as she holds her niece in her arms for the first time.

“It was better than the alternative,” Bellamy tells his sister, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s forehead before offering her a cheeky smile. “Trust me.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Augustus had a sister called Octavia and a child called Julia ;)


	4. Either kiss will do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke misinterprets a request, and Bellamy’s pretty cool with it

“Princess! Gimme a thing!”

“Whah?” Clarke mumbles from beside him, face tucked into her arm, neck at an awkward angle on the couch. 

Bellamy glances away from the TV, sparing a moment to really look at her, a no-doubt goofy grin spreading across his face as he takes in the mess of blonde curls; the few strands stuck in her half open mouth; the smudged mascara just below her eyes. It’s pretty safe to say that he’s very far gone on one Clarke Griffin, and the past month she’s been overseas has done nothing to stop his feelings towards her. 

And apparently, neither has the fact that she looks like an absolute mess on his couch, and is currently passing out at three in the afternoon because jet lag is a beautiful thing. In the first minute she arrived at his apartment (straight from the airport because she thought a good surprise would be to tell him she was arriving five hours later than she actually was), she instructed him to keep her awake until at _least_ seven o’clock. That was one hour, and one (clearly not very thorough; her makeup is half on-half off, and he really fucking loves her) shower ago, and he’s since made a not-so valiant effort at keeping her awake.

But really, who was he kidding? Sleepy Clarke is in his top three favourite Clarkes (right behind Riled Up and Adorable Clarke, and Very Drunk and Affectionate Clarke). She most certainly picked the wrong man for the job. 

Still, he’s making a half-hearted effort, so he repeats, “the thing, Clarke!” while snapping his fingers in her general direction, _obviously_ wanting her to hand over the bag of chocolates she's got her hand stuck in.

“Whah?” She says again, at least opening her eyes blearily this time. He can’t help the soft laughter that bubbles out of his chest at her expression, and in her sleepy state she simply nods, serious, and takes his hand, before closing her eyes again. 

“The kisses,” he says softly to himself, finally registering the name of the thing he’s after. He leans towards the other side of Clarke, trying to keep her hand in his own because - well, sue him; he’s in love with this girl and her hand is small and soft and warm in his. “I just wanted you to give me a kiss.” 

Before he really knows what’s happening, his free hand outstretched to take the packet of Hershey’s kisses from Clarke, his jaw is being cradled, tilted, and then there’s a pair of lips on his own. 

The kiss is gentle and sweet, just the barest hint of tongue parting the light touch of Clarke’s lips as they slide against his own, just once, and then she’s practically pushing him back on the couch so she can rest against his chest instead (not that Bellamy’s complaining; one, because it’s definitely a contender for the best moment of his life, and two, because he’s pretty fucking speechless right now). 

A soft snore breaks him from his daze, and he kisses Clarke on the top of her head before rounding his arms around her; one beneath her knees and the other behind her back, picking her up (with great effort) from the couch so she can rest on his bed. 

Once he’s got her settled (she was luckily already in some semblance of pyjamas) he turns to leave, only to have her once against grasping his hand.

“Stay,” she says, half asleep. “Don’t leave me.”

And let it be said that Bellamy Blake has never been able to say no to Clarke Griffin (nor would he want to). He changes into some sweats and slides into bed beside her, a safe distance between them because he may want to hold Clarke more than anything ever, but she’s practically dead to the world right now. And of course it’s still three in the afternoon, so he simply picks up the book he’s reading from his bedside table, and spends the next few hours trying to focus on the words in front of him, and failing when the girl beside him continues to shift more and more to the middle of the bed, eventually ending up curled in his side.

So when it’s just past midnight and he wakes up to find her sitting up in his bed, taking in her surroundings with a confused expression, he can’t help the smile that grows on his face when all she does is lay back down, settle against his chest, and wind his arms around her middle with a happy sigh. 


	5. Triplets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not at all inspired by bob saying "i have triplets?" at wondercon what are you talking abt?

It takes fourteen months before it finally happens. Fourteen long, hard months. 

Fourteen months after the conversation that leaves them both with wide smiles and swelling hearts, the words _we’re going to have a family_ being whispered into kisses like they’re a precious secret. Fourteen months that progress from excitement to frustration to sadness, and finally to a sense of uselessness that is intrusive; invading more aspects of his lives than he thought it could’ve. Fourteen months in which he has to witness his wife’s smile become more and more brittle, a small shake of her head after she leaves the bathroom, adding _tampons_ onto their shopping list in slow, careful cursive. Fourteen months that he finds is enough to make him feel like some sort of failure; because he should be able to do this, this one thing, and the fact that he’s unable to without any real fucking reason makes it even more difficult to accept. 

_It takes time_ , they’re told by their doctors. By her mother and by his sister and by every goddamn website he obsessively reads until Clarke shuts his laptop and swallows his protests with soft lips; ones that remind him how much he wants this. How he’d wait and wait and wait if it meant they could have it. How he’d try by any means because family doesn’t end in blood and he’s known that ever since he met Miller when he was nine years old.

In the end it’s simply a Tuesday night on the brink of Summer, sun setting outside and casting the sky into pinks and purples and oranges that he knows Clarke loves to paint. He’s sitting on the couch, brow furrowed as he reads through a student’s essay, when Clarke pads over, curling into his side and nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck. 

He slides an arm around her, hand absently playing with the ends of her hair, and doesn’t realise she’s watching him until he’s circled the _B+_ on the essay and placed it into the marked pile on the arm of the couch. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks when he catches her eyes, wide and a little wet.

She presses her face back into his shoulder, mumbling something he can’t understand while her hands clasp onto his pyjama top.

“Clarke,” he says, soft, thumb rubbing circles onto her arm in an attempt to make her feel better. He’s not sure how worried he should be right now.

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” she says, shifting back to look him in her eye, and he doesn’t quite understand until she pulls out a familiar piece of plastic and places it on his lap. 

And he knows what she means exactly, because six months ago they were in this same position - although there were more tears of joy and laughs of relief - only to find that it was a false positive. And yet, still he can’t help how his chest blooms with warmth as he stares down at the red positive sign. He can’t help how his throat closes up with tears, because after fourteen months how can he not get his hopes up?

It may not have been right last time, but _it could be this time_ , and it’s enough for him to lean in and kiss Clarke with every fucking emotion that’s now running through him. 

“I don’t know if I can handle it not being true, Bell,” she whispers to him when they finally pull away from each other. “I don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

He nods because he understands, but has to add “you can handle anything, Clarke,” because she can and she has to know. She’s the strongest goddamn person he’s met in his life and if anyone can survive heartbreak it’s her, but _fuck_ he doesn’t want her to. Not month after month after month. 

He kisses her again, and it’s the first time in a long while that he makes love to his wife with no thought of children; nothing more than how beautiful she is and how much he fucking loves her. 

And while he tries to tamp down the hope that grows in the coming days - when they roll into a week and then two; when one test turns to five as they wait for a doctor’s appointment - it’s a difficult task. He knows Clarke’s having trouble with it too; sees how she catches herself complaining about sore breasts, a hand moving to caress her stomach, looking torn over whether she should be happy with the development or not. It could be considered paranoid, but he knows well that it’s worse to be built up and pulled down than to do what they're doing now.

By the time of their appointment he’s almost a hundred percent sure, and knows that Clarke is too. But still they haven’t said so. Her knee bounces up and down in the waiting room and he rests a hand over the pale skin of her thigh to stop it; an attempt of comfort when he himself feels like his nerves are going to pull him apart. 

They know but they don’t _know,_ and until they have something real and definitive, they won’t let themselves fully and completely believe. 

Bellamy takes her hand when they’re in the exam room, giving nods and comments when she looks to him for affirmation at the information the doctor is asking for. And when she’s asked to lie back on a table and lift her top for the ultrasound gel, he kisses the knuckles that have turned white as she grips his hand, hard.

He watches the screen with bated breath, knows that Clarke is doing the exact same thing because when the ultrasound technician moves the probe to a certain position, saying “there” when a white blob appears on the screen, she releases a shaky breath.

They knew but they didn’t _know_ , and. Fuck. Now they know.

“Congratulations,” the woman smiles, and Bellamy can’t help but laugh a little because _fourteen months_ and he’d do it all over again for this moment. 

Clarke’s crying when he leans in, forehead resting against hers so they can simply share the same air. She’s the strongest goddamn person he’s met in his life and she deserves the world, and even after all these years he’s still sometimes hit with disbelief that her world involves him. That he gets this with her. And now - now it’s even more.A world with Clarke Griffin and a world with their child.

She tilts her head to press her lips to his quickly, and they only break apart completely when the woman, hand still holding a probe against Clarke’s belly, makes a sound of surprise.

“What?” Clarke asks, and he hates that he can hear the dread in it, how her hand tightens in his in less than a second. 

“Nothing bad,” the woman assures, voice soothing as she smiles. Clarke’s hand relaxes in his. “I just hope you guys really love kids.” She points to the screen and says, “one,” moving the probe, “two,” and moving it once more, “and three.”

“Three.”

“Triplets,” the woman says, letting Clarke and Bellamy stare at the screen for a long moment before he starts laughing again.

“We’re having triplets?” He asks, disbelief colouring his voice as he looks to Clarke.

His surprise is mirrored on her face, but it’s only a moment before it’s replaced by a laughing smile and tears streaming from happy, bright eyes.

“Figures it would take fourteen months only for this to happen,” she tells him, voice thick with tears as she moves to cradle his face, bringing him in for a kiss that’s probably not totally appropriate for their location. 

“Figures,” he repeats against her lips, the shock still rendering him somewhat speechless. His heart feels like it’s soaring and he needs a moment to compose himself because his whole world has just shifted in the best way possible. Still, “three kids is a lot,” he says after several moments, because it needs to be said. Out of every possible scenario he thought of, this definitely wasn’t one of them. 

“I don’t care,” she says, and he can hear that she’s smiling. “Bellamy, I do not care at all.” 

“Yeah,” he replies, shifting back to look at her. “Me neither.”

“Triplets,” she whispers, the word said with awe.

“Triplets,” Bellamy murmurs, nodding before kissing her once more. 

It doesn’t sound like a bad deal after fourteen months.

In fact, it sounds pretty fucking perfect.  

 


	6. Good morning, wife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First good morning kiss as a married couple, set in [After All](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5489465/chapters/12683111) universe.   
> If you haven't read you might not get a few of the smaller points, but it's mostly just fluff anyway :)

It’s bright light creeping through the blinds and blonde hair stuck in his mouth and a warmth in his chest that just grows and grows and grows when he wakes up.

Only a few seconds later the events of the previous day flash through his mind, and his hold on the body in front of his tightens involuntarily. Clarke’s eyes finding his as she walked down the aisle, swirling blue and bright with love and hope and joy, looking at him like he was her future. Clarke’s lips pulling into a grin as she took his hand, as he pressed kisses into her fingers because he wasn’t allowed to kiss her properly just then, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t bend the rules at least a little. Clarke’s mouth on his the instant she was able to, sweet with the words _I do,_ and then _I love you, Bellamy Blake,_ and finally the most thrilling of them all: _husband._

He releases her the smallest amount, only so he can press a kiss to her bare shoulder, smiling when she arches into his touch. He brushes the hair from new neck, continuing to place his lips along the skin he reveals, revelling in the breathy sigh that she releases, stirring from her sleep.

She rolls onto her back, blinking up at him blearily, and he grins without restraint. Clarke’s hair is a fucking mess and her face is twisting into an adorable expression as she wakes and then she smiles -  _so fucking bright -_ and he knows she’s remembering exactly what he had just moments ago. She’s his _wife,_ and he’s her husband, and the reality of it is incredible and exhilarating and slightly terrifying all in one, but he has her with him so he can’t find himself to be scared at all. 

“Morning,” she murmurs, voice still thick with sleep even as she flashes him a bright grin through her rosy lips. 

“Morning,” he replies, laying on his side as close as he can get to her, head propped up in his hand.

He cards the other through her hair, nails scraping along her scalp the way he knows she loves, and then to cradle her face, stroking her cheek and down, down, down to her lips so she can kiss the pad of his thumb. 

“Morning,” she repeats, a little more awake this time, pulling a soft laugh from him. “Are you gonna kiss me any time soon?”

“It’s our first good morning kiss as a married couple, Clarke,” he says, mildly serious even though his voice is teasing. Clarke can most definitely see through it. “Gotta make it count.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Kiss me, Bellamy.”

“As the princess requests,” he says, not giving her a chance to roll her eyes or offer a snarky reply, instead doing just as she requested and kissing her.

And in the end it doesn’t matter, because of course it doesn’t. She may be his wife but first and foremost she is Clarke Griffin, and she kisses as Clarke Griffin should; sure and passionate and with a certain spark he likes to believe is a challenge of some sort.  Lips sliding against his own, she’s quick to part the seam with her tongue, licking into his mouth slow and languid, like a morning kiss should be. Slow burning but oh so delicious.  It doesn’t _really_ matter, because they’ve spent hundreds of mornings like this before, but it still matters to him. It’s still special to him.

She’s smiling when he pulls away from her, and he rests his forehead against hers so he can stay close, so he can tilt forward one more time and kiss her again, quicker and more chaste. His hand moves back to cradle her face, and hers move to card through his curls, nails scraping because she knows him just as well as he knows her. 

“Did you know that we met exactly four years ago?” She says softly, a brilliant smile on her face as she brings him back to that night in the bar so long ago, to the night two years later when she said almost this exact same thing. 

“I remember, princess,” he says, echoing the words he responded with two years ago. The beginning of their second chance. The beginning to the journey that brought them to this place. 

She smiles almost desperately at that, as though everything is pouring out and she’s unable to contain it, and she leans up to kiss him again, deeper this time as she keeps his mouth to hers, hand tightening in his hair. 

“Husband,” she breathes out after a long minute, sealing the words against his lips once more; like a promise.

“Wife,” he responds, just as soft. A promise. He likes the sound of that. And then, because this is how it all started really, he leans back and grins at her. “Happy birthday, Clarke.”


	7. That’s the day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke can't reach the top shelf at the library and Bellamy finds it funny.

Clarke knows she’s short.

She’s known it ever since she was seven and unable to reach the monkey bars at school - _even_ when she jumped - when almost everyone else in her class could. Wells, always the kinder and much more optimistic of the pair, assured her that she’d have a growth spurt when she was older, and would be able to reach even _the tallest_ of monkey bars they could find. But with parents that weren’t exactly _tall,_ it never came, and Clarke’s pretty much accepted that she’s short, and therefore sometimes has to deal with what she calls Short People Problems.

And it’s fine, really. She’s used to it. 

Except that this is not only the _fifth_ time a text she’s needed has been situated on the top (and too tall for her reach) shelf in the past two weeks, it is also the fifth time that Hot, Smirky Library Asshole (as she’s come to know him), has chuckled quietly when he’s seen her struggling. 

She’s not sure how he always happens to be at the library - on the specific floors and standing in the specific aisles housing the specific books that she needs - at the same time as her, but he _is,_ and he is just _always_ laughing at her. It’s infuriating, and honestly a little insulting, too.

So it’s only because this is the fifth time she hears him laugh, low and mirthful, that after tilting her head up to the shelf, knowing damn well that she’s not getting this book without Lincoln’s help, she turns to glare at him, crossing her arms over her chest and saying “You could just offer to help me, you know.”

He simply glances up from the book he’s got open in his hands, and grins at her, wide and bright. “But you look like you’re having so much fun, princess.”

Clarke scowls, annoyed that her anger only seems to make his smile wider, and turns back to the shelf. But there’s no point, and she knows it, and apparently so does Hot, Smirky Library Asshole, because only a few seconds later he’s pushing her gently to the side and finding the exact book she’s looking for. 

Confused, Clarke gives him a weird look even as she accepts it. 

“I’m guessing you need it for Wallace’s paper.”

“Yes,” she says slowly, a bit warily. 

“Relax princess,” he replies, rolling his eyes. “I’m not stalking you, I’m just in that class too.”

“Oh.” He looks older than her twenty one years, maybe only by two or three, but enough that the information is a surprise. Third year art history doesn’t have a _huge_ number of students, but it’s enough that she definitely doesn’t know everybody, especially people who aren’t in her tutorial. Still, she's not sure how to feel knowing that he’s noticed her in class when she only knows him as Hot, Smirky Library Asshole. She’s actually a little flattered, despite herself.

He grins again, and now that he’s close enough she’s realising that he has freckles. Constellations of them dancing across on his face, and _god_ has she always loved freckles and always loved the night sky. She ducks her head, hiding the flush that’s quickly rising on her cheeks because his smile is lovely and his eyes are even more so, and she feels way too overwhelmed to deal with it. 

Something buzzes with a notification and when Clarke glances up, Hot, Smirky Library Asshole is checking his phone.

“Gotta go,” he tells her, which feels kind of unnecessary because they don’t actually _know_ each other, but it’s still nice all the same. “I’ll see you around, princess.”

“It’s Clarke,” she manages, and when he laughs the sound doesn’t make her annoyed in the way it did just minutes ago. “Are you going to tell me yours, or should I just keep calling you Library Asshole like I do in my head?”

“Bellamy,” he tells her, offering a hand, which she accepts. It’s almost comically large around hers, and the warmth it brings to her skin is gone all too quickly once they shake. “Chapter seven is probably what you’re looking for. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” she says, watching as he slings his backpack over his shoulder and strides out of the aisle and towards the stairs of the library. 

“Why are you so flushed?” Lincoln asks when she returns to the table they’re studying on. He raises his eyebrows when she sets down the book Bellamy handed her. “And why aren’t you coming to ask me to get this for you?”

“Library Asshole stopped laughing at me long enough to actually be helpful.”

“Hot, Smirky Library Asshole, I think you mean,” Lincoln corrects, and Clarke’s really regretting telling her friend about this development in her life. “You’re blushing.”

“Shut up,” she mutters, opening the book up to chapter seven and finding what she needs in half a minute.

She _does_ actually notice him during her next class, mostly because he finds her in the lecture theatre and unceremoniously slumps down in the seat next to hers. 

“How’d the paper go?” He asks without looking at her, fetching a slightly beaten up laptop from his bag and opening it, ready to take notes. 

“Good,” she says after a pause, because she’s surprised and kind of confused and doesn’t exactly know how to proceed. The thing is, Clarke's kind of a prickly person. She only has a small group, and each of her friendships were forged because every single one of her friends is as determined as Clarke is stubborn. They weaselled their way into her heart, and as much as she loves them to bits now, she knows she didn’t make it the easiest task. So it’s weird that Bellamy seems to be putting in any semblance of effort, especially when her first words to him weren’t all that nice. 

“Good,” he echoes, and doesn’t speak another word until the end of the lecture when he’s gathering his things and says “See ya,” leaving before Clarke can muster up a response.

And it keeps happening. Not just in lectures, where he continues to sit next to her - each time offering a few more words - but also at the library. They seem to have pretty similar timetables and therefore pretty similar studying periods, so now, instead of laughing when she’s unable to reach a book in the library, he’ll simply grab it and come to join her at the table she’s studying on.

He doesn’t mind her prickly nature, even seems to enjoy it a little (probably finding it amusing), but she does notice how his expression becomes warmer when she’s softer around him; offering a story from her childhood or speaking fondly of her friends. 

In the months that roll by she tells him a lot about herself; can see how he takes in the information, how his smile becomes more personal every times he learns something new about her. Her stomach flutters when he laughs now - the sound richer and fuller as they’ve become friends - and she knows she’s screwed because she’s never felt so determined to continue to make someone laugh as she is with Bellamy Blake.

He himself opens up to her as well, albeit more slowly than she did. She learns that he _is_ in fact two years older than her; deferring uni so he could look after his sister when his mother died, and then studying part time to hold down a job. She learns that he prefers tea over coffee, unless he has an essay to power through; that he knows the lyrics to every song in _Tangled_ and has a lot of opinions on Rapunzel’s hair - “there’s just no way she could brush it all, Clarke. By the time she finished it all the top would be knotty again.” “Her hair can _glow_ and _heal_ people, Bell, and _that’s_ what you’re questioning?”; and that he wears glasses that look _way_ too good on him when his eyes get sore from contacts. It’s honestly not good for her mental health. 

Clarke's feelings for Bellamy develop slowly but surely, and it’s honestly nice to know that she has something that’s based on more than just a fleeting crush or sexual tension. He’s her friend - one of her best friends actually, and she’s still scared, because feelings are scary, but he makes her a little less so. The way he grins at her when she goes on a rant about the importance of intersectional feminism, or the way he settles a blanket over her when she passes out studying at his apartment, or the way he makes her a batch of soup when she gets the flu over winter break, bringing it to her place with more medicine and tissues and an order to go back to bed.All little confirmations that they’re friends, yes, but that they could be more. That he could feel more, too.

It comes to a head when they’re celebrating the end of the academic year with their now joined group of friends. The apartment she shares with Monty is buzzing with energy; drinks are flowing and music is blasting and people are singing and laughing and dancing, and Bellamy manages to find her on the fire escape outside her bedroom when she needs a bit of air. 

“You alright?” He asks as he sits down next to her, and Clarke immediately snuggles into his side when he puts his arm around her.

“Mmm,” she hums happily, cheeks flushed in her tipsy state (and because she can smell Bellamy so _so_ clearly from her position). “Are you alright?”

“Always am with you,” he says, fond but serious, and Clarke glances up to find him staring out into the night sky. 

“We’ve been friends for almost a year now,” she tells him, and he looks down with furrowed brows, probably wondering why she’s bringing this up. She soldiers on before she can chicken out, looking out to the dark city skyline. You can’t see the stars very well with the bright lights all around, but it doesn’t matter. She knows they’re there, just like she knows Bellamy is. “When I first talked to you it was because you were laughing that I couldn’t reach a book in the library. Do you remember that?”

“Of course I do,” he says, which. Yeah, of course he does. It’s an inside joke between them now; how he always needs to be there for Clarke because she’s too damn short, and even though he’s not even that _tall -_ he probably only has a few inches on her - it is true. She does need him. “Why’re you asking?”

“Why were you always laughing?” She asks, nerves still coming alight even though the alcohol has mellowed her worries. 

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Cause you were always kind of adorable,” he admits after a moment, sheepish. It’s dark but she can see how his ears tinge red with the confession, and she grins before she can help herself. 

“You thought I was adorable?”

“Adorable _and_ petulant,” he tells her, almost defensively. “You were always so determined to get the book by yourself at the beginning, even though two minutes later you’d come back with Lincoln to fetch whatever it was you were after for you. Every single time.”

“You thought I was _adorable._ ”

“Shut up.”

“I called you Hot, Smirky Library Asshole when I didn’t know your name.”

He looks at her, eyebrows raised and a smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve had to revise it a little.” Her hand finds his and she lays them in her lap, tracing along his fingers and circling his knuckles. She looks back up to him, and with a smile admits, “Now you’re just Hot, Smirky, Sometimes Assholey Bellamy.”

He smiles, soft. “I still think you’re adorable,” he tells her, and it feels like more of a confession than it really is. “Is this - you’re not just drunk right now, are you? You - we’re—”

“We’re us, Bell,” she says, because it’s true. He’s her best friend, and just like everyone else he weaselled his way into her heart, but he feels like hers in a way that nobody ever has. She doesn’t really want him to ever leave. “I’m not drunk. I want this.”

And that’s all it takes for his mouth to capture hers, silencing any other words she might’ve offered, although there was only the statement that she’s really glad he’s an asshole who thought she was adorable and laughed at her for being short all that time ago. 

The kiss is warm and wet, a little bit sloppy as his tongue swipes against the seam of her lips and meets hers, and she can taste the shitty beer he’s been drinking. A warmth spreads through her chest as she cards a hand through his curls, and his arms circle her waist, bringing her onto his lap. When they break apart to breathe she can feel his smile so close to her own. 

“I’m glad you’re a short ass,” he tells her, and now she can hear it in his voice, too. “Want to be my pocket-sized girlfriend?”

Clarke laughs, kissing him once more, and finds herself agreeing pretty strongly to both.


	8. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more smut. Set in [ Sexretary](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6117610) universe.  
> Clarke likes to tease Bellamy at work, but she also likes to let him eat her out on her desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this brightens your day, alessa!!!

She’s wearing the fucking blouse. 

The lilac one that complements her ivory skin so well. An extra button popped open so he can see the swell of her breasts, the smallest hint of cream lace. And it’s tucked into that fucking pencil skirt. Dark grey, tight, showing off the curve of her ass perfectly and ending a little above the knee, because she at least tries to be professional at work. 

He’s told her how much he loves the outfit; how distracting it is because all he wants to do is corner her in her office and fuck her up against a wall, suck bruises into her skin where they can’t be hidden. Where everyone will know exactly what she’s just been doing. It makes it all the more tempting each time she passes him at his desk, a sway of her hips he knows is for his benefit, the release of a breathy sigh as she runs a hand through her blonde locks, the sound sending a jolt to his cock which is entirely unhelpful when he can’t act on it, one final salacious wink over her shoulder.

Fucking tease.

It’s the end of the work day when his line to her office goes off, and he lets the phone ring out twice before he picks up. She may be a tease but he can at least hold some power over her.

“Yes?”

“Bellamy. Come to my office, now.”

He leans back in his chair, a smirk pulling at his lips because after this entire day of her teasing he can finally hear an edge to her voice. She wants him. Badly.

“I don’t know, Clarke. I’m a little busy right now.”

“And what are you busy with, might I ask?” 

“Oh, you know,” he drawls, glancing over his ticked off to-do list. “Copying, filing, the usual.”

“ _Well_ , I assure you that your skills would be put to _much_ better use if you came into my office.”

“Oh, really,” he says, smirk replaced by a shit-eating grin now. “What task requires these skills of mine?”

“I seem to have lost something in here.”

“And what would that be?”

Clarke clears her throat, but her next words still manage to come out husky. “My clothes.”

The phone line is dead before he manages to stutter out a response, because _god fucking dammit_ that girl is a tease. He contemplates making her wait all of five seconds, but ultimately the image of her in there, so close to where a bunch of her colleagues are still working, without her fucking clothes on? Well it makes him readjust his pants before walking swiftly to her office.

He doesn’t bother knocking, and when he steps into her office she’s sitting behind her desk, eyes on the laptop in front of her, in her fucking _underwear._

“Lock the door,” she tells him, still tapping away at her keyboard. 

He does as he’s told, flicking over the latch before slowly making his way over to her. The blush that creeps up her skin, turning the lovely pale curve of her breasts pink, is the only indication that this is affecting her. 

“What can I help you with, Clarke?”

She swallows, flicking her gaze to him momentarily. “As I told you, I seem to have lost my clothes.”

“And you’d like some help finding them?”

“Oh, no,” she says, smile coy. “I just can’t manage the rest of them by myself.” 

He purses his lips. “I see. Maybe I can help you with that.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Bellamy nods, stepping around the desk so he’s standing behind her. Clarke finally shuts her laptop, pushing it to the side of her desk along with everything else on there.

He begins at the top, sweeping her blonde hair over one shoulder, leaning down to kiss the column of her neck. She arches into his touch, sigh parting her lips as his teeth graze down her skin, laving any sting with his tongue. He bites the strap of her bra, pulling it over her shoulder before kissing the reddened skin it’s left. She looks so good, receptive to every touch, every kiss, and he can’t help but trace his eyes down her figure.

“Bell,” Clarke whines, apparently frustrated that he’s taking too long. He chuckles and she shoots his a look he thinks is meant to be annoyed, but is mostly desperate. Desperate and fucking _hot._ “Come on,” she says, biting down on her bottom lip oh so invitingly. She wraps her arm around his neck and cards her fingers into his hair, pulling him down until he’s so _so_ close to kissing her. “I’ve been waiting for this all day.”

“Have you?”

“Yes,” she huffs, rolling her eyes. “You know how much I love you in this suit.”

If Clarke realises the words she’s just said she doesn’t show any indication of it, and Bellamy’s too fired up to question it, because if he asked and was shot down she’d surely break his heart.

They’ve been doing this for over four months now - dating and working together - and it hit him all of a sudden three weeks ago, Clarke’s arms wrapped around him as they spent a lazy Sunday together in his bed: he loved her. But he didn’t tell her then, and he still hasn’t managed to.

And with Clarke looking at him like she is, pupils blown wide with just a sliver of blue around them, pink tinge to her skin, chest rising and falling quickly, it’s definitely not the right time now, either.

So he obliges, capturing her lips to kiss her hungrily. She moans into his mouth when his tongue traces the seam of her lips, immediately opening up for him as he repositions himself in front of her. It’s fast and wet and fucking _hot_ , and Bellamy ignores the awkward angle he’s standing in because she tastes like the lemonade she always treats herself to in the afternoon and smells like those flowers he knows is from her shampoo. 

When she breaks away to breathe he doesn’t waste any time, mouthing down her throat and letting his hands wander down to her waist. He pulls her forward, and she lets out a surprised gasp, arm settling around his shoulders for support as he transfers her onto the desk instead.

He’s able to rid her of her lacy bra soon after that, mouth licking down her sternum and to her breasts, closing around a nipple to suck until it’s reached a peak, hand giving the other the same attention. She’s doing well at keeping herself quiet - just soft moans and whines - but he knows it must be an effort, because one of the first things he learnt about Clarke after starting this is that she gets off on public sex a  _lot._ It’s a game of theirs now (because they always loved their games); Bellamy trying to make her scream and Clarke trying her hardest not to, muffling her cries with her hand, his shoulder, her underwear. Whatever’s available.

Bellamy continues his task, pushing Clarke until her back hits the desk, and continuing to work his mouth and hands down her figure. She lifts her ass up when his fingers curl around the waistband of her panties, and he slides them down her thighs and calves, flinging the flimsy fabric somewhere behind him. He starts back up from her ankles slowly, drawing it out because he knows she loves it best that way, and it’s only when she pulls him in with her legs that he settles down properly, teeth nibbling the inside of her thighs teasingly. 

_“Bellamy,”_ she whines. “You better do something real — oh, _fuck._ ”

He slides his finger up her slit again lightly, just missing her clit to drive her crazy. She’s already so fucking wet for him, and when he tells her as much, a smirk plastered on his face, she orders him to _shut the fuck up and put that mouth to better use._

And in the end he can never deny Clarke, so Bellamy leans forward, parting her folds with his hand, and takes a slow lick of her. He loves eating Clarke out; loves the taste of her, the way she sounds when he works his tongue over her clit, the clench of her pussy when she comes, like she’s trying to draw in his tongue or his fingers. It’s fucking intoxicating, and he works Clarke up in a way he’s become familiar with: alternating between slow, long licks and fast, sharp flicks of his tongue. 

He slides two fingers into her when a moan manages to get past her lips, and when he glances up she’s moving a hand to her mouth while the other continues to fondle her breasts. The sight sends a spark through him, and his cock twitches as it presses hard in his pants. 

“Fuck Clarke,” he mutters, kissing the junction of her hip quickly. “So fucking gorgeous.” 

He curls his fingers inside her and she arches her back off the desk slightly, thrusting against him like she’s trying to fuck herself. He positions his arm over her hips to keep her steady, beginning to stroke inside her more quickly, tips of his fingers hitting that sweet spot in her cunt and each time making her wind up around him. She’s close, he can tell, and the thought spurs him on more. 

Bellamy takes her clit in his mouth and sucks earnestly, rewarded with a strangled version of his name, and when he can feel her begin to tremble under his efforts he speeds up his fingers once more and grazes his teeth where she’s most sensitive. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, _Bell,_ ” Clarke moans past her hand quietly, thighs clenching around his head and hips bucking up against his arm. “I’m so, so—”

“Come on, baby,” Bellamy murmurs against her. “Let go, princess. I got you.” He latches onto her once more, sucking _hard,_ and then she’s clenching around his fingers beautifully and repeating his name around her hand like it’s a goddamn prayer. 

He works her through it, easing on her clit but keeping up with his fingers while she shakes beneath him. She feels like heaven, tastes even better, and Bellamy sometimes forgets how far from an angel Clarke really is, but eating her out on her desk in her office is probably a good reminder. 

When she comes down from her high, slumping against the desk, sated, he removes his fingers from her and licks them clean, savouring her heady taste. 

“Hey,” she sighs, blinking up at him when he stands, satisfied smile on her face.

“Hey,” he grins, hands rubbing up her thighs, still bracketing his hips, before sliding to her waist. He helps her sit up until they’re chest to chest, and when his mouth finds hers the taste of her arousal mingles between their tongues. “Hey,” he repeats when they break apart. “You should call me in for that more often.” 

Clarke giggles, the sound at complete odds to the downright _naughty_ thing they just did while at work. Her forehead falls onto his shoulder as her arms wrap around his torso, fingers scratching up his back. 

“We have sex in here twice a week, Bell.”

“Still.”

She pulls back and grins, eyes bright as they gaze into his. “I love you, you know.”

“Yeah?” He asks, smile breaking out on his face. 

“Yeah.” 

“Me too,” he tells her, hands cradling her face. “I love you, Clarke.”

He pulls her in for another kiss, and this time it's slower and sweeter; the weight of the words heavy on their lips in the best possible way.

A knock on the door has them pulling apart, and even though he knows it’s locked Bellamy still pulls Clarke into his chest, covering her up as much as he can.

“Yes?” Clarke calls out, voice somehow coming out professional. 

“I'm just letting you know I’m heading off.” It’s Harper, one of Clarke’s colleagues and definitely someone who’s suspicious of her relationship with Bellamy. “You’re the last one here, although Bellamy’s things are still on his desk.”

Clarke smiles, stifling a laugh. “Thank you, Harper. See you next week.”

“Bye, Clarke.” A beat, then, “Bye, Bellamy. Have a good weekend.”

“You, too, Harper,” Bellamy calls out, ignoring Clarke’s slap on the chest. Harper’s laugh sounds from the other side of the door, and Bellamy grins as he looks down at Clarke. “See, you’re totally not subtle,” Bellamy tells her. “In fact you’re a fucking tease.”

“I don’t think a tease follows through,” Clarke says, but she’s smiling playfully, too.

“You’re still a tease.”

“A tease you love,” she reminds him, and well. Yeah, she’s got him there. 

“Yeah, a tease I love.”


	9. Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy cuts his hair and Clarke’s upset about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the prompt Hana!

If you asked Clarke what it was about Bellamy Blake that made him so  _Bellamy,_ she wouldn't know what to pinpoint.

There are so many things that feel so particular to him, from his ridiculous love of history - any era, anywhere in the world; he just wants to know  _more_ \- to his weirdly good ability to paint fingers and toes, going as far as adding small, cute flowers to the corner of each nail, to the way he demands to be the little spoon whenever they watch a trashy movie together and cuddle.

They're all part of him, from the big, important stuff to the small, silly quirks, and Clarke can appreciate even the most frustrating of his traits (his overprotective nature, easily), because it's what makes him  _Bellamy._

What she didn't realise is that his hair is also part of what makes Bellamy so Bellamy to Clarke. That his hair is something that made him more attractive to her. And yet, here she is, watching him with a frown on her face, alcohol prompting her to tell him, voice annoyed —

"You look weird with short hair."

Bellamy scowls, which is _also_ how Clarke's feeling as she looks at his freshly cut locks, although she knows they're scowling for different reasons. See, while Clarke is mourning the loss of his gorgeous inky curls ( _mop of hair_ is a phrase that suits Bellamy to a tee, and she often wonders if he even _owns_ a comb), Bellamy is bitter about _how_ the loss came about.

It was half a week ago that she got the _I fucking hate undergrads_ text, which honestly wasn’t much in and of itself from her best friend. But it was sent past midnight and accompanied by a selfie; Bellamy’s face crinkled in the way it gets when he falls asleep on non-bed surfaces, eyes bleary, mouth turned down into a frown, and a piece of bright pink _gum_ stuck in his hair.

It was hard not to laugh at the time, even though Clarke did feel a surge of sympathy for him. Apparently, after a very intense two weeks of uni which involved submitting a final draft of his completed thesis, Bellamy had fallen asleep on a desk at the college library. Which again, wasn’t much in and of itself, but this one happened to have gum on it. And of course Bellamy blamed it on undergrads, because generally speaking they’re easy to blame disorder within the library on.

But Clarke isn’t laughing now, because realising that you’re attracted to and in love with your best friend is one thing, but finding out that their  _hair_ is something you are very much into;  that you need time to grieve its loss _because they cut it all off_ is something else entirely.

She’s trying to deal, reasoning with herself that she’s an adult and this whole ordeal shouldn’t be affecting her as much as it is. But in the two hours that have passed since Bellamy showed up for Friday night drinks, Clarke’s gotten more and more drunk, and is now feeling very much like a non-adult. A non-adult who is very upset about the lack of messy hair on top of Bellamy's head.

He narrows his eyes, but the way his mouth twitches, like he wants to smile but isn’t letting himself, makes it lose the intended effect. “Fuck you, princess.”

“I’m just saying,” she muses, “you should probably wear a beanie until it grows out." For her own selfish benefit, she leaves out, because every time she sees him she'll just be reminded that Bellamy's hair is A Thing for her. Too much of A Thing. A Thing she's upset about losing to a disproportionate degree of its loss. 

“Maybe I won’t grow it out just to spite you,” he grumbles, and Clarke swats at him over the table because the thought is truly upsetting. _Seriously._  She has a fucking _problem_. 

“Do whatever you want, Bell,” she says, aiming for casual and thinking she even manages it. “I’m just saying that _objectively_ you look better with longer hair.”

“That literally makes no sense." He quirks an eyebrow, takes a pull of his drink. "It’s completely subjective.”

“And _objectively,_ ” Clarke continues, pointedly ignoring him, “that means you might strike out more. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

He barks out a laugh. “As always, I’m touched by your concern,” he says, dry. 

“You should be. I’m a great friend.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes, but doesn’t disagree. “Well it’s not like I’m trying to hook up with anyone these days, am I?" It comes out with just an hint of harshness, and Bellamy seems to notice when Clarke leans back in her seat, surprised. He offers a smile, something like an apology in it, and with a softer voice continues. "I doubt my hair will affect my life much, Clarke.”

“Huh,” Clarke frowns, sipping her beer while she looks at him curiously. There's a minute of silence while she runs through the past few months in her head, trying to pick out a night Bellamy flirted and subsequently went home with someone. But she comes up with nothing. Bellamy Blake, notorious one stand enthusiast, hasn’t had a single one night stand in _months._ No guys, no girls, not for a long time; maybe not since he and Gina split up almost a year ago.  “I guess not.” She hesitates, worrying her lip before she lets herself ask, “Any particular…reason for that?”

Bellamy watches her for a long moment and Clarke feels her face heat up in the dark room.

It’s just - they’ve been friends for six years now, best friends for four, but they've never been more than that. Not in the way most people count. Not in the way where Clarke's ever admitted her feelings _to_ him. There was a time she was considering it, but then Gina came along, and later Niylah, and through it all Bellamy was there - her constant; both a blessing and a curse - and it didn't feel fair. Not when she knew he didn't feel the same way. 

So she didn't tell him. Hasn't told him. Wasn't planning to.

But the way he’s looking at her right now - like he’s so close to confessing something but not quite _there -_  makes Clarke hold her breath and hope.

There's something about his mop of dark curls that's just so  _Bellamy,_ but even with them gone the rest of him is still here. Hair or no hair she loves him, and there's something in his eyes Clarke's never caught more than a glimpse of before; never for this long, never this intense, never with this much vulnerability. She looks into his eyes and she can't help but think he loves her back. 

It’s another moment of electric-filled silence before Bellamy releases a deep breath, bowing his head to look at the beer bottle in front of him. “Nah,” he says, glancing back up to Clarke, but there’s something else in his eyes now. A sadness to them, maybe even longing. They flit around her face before he shakes his head. “No reason. Another drink?”

He’s up before Clarke can manage a reply, and she watches as he moves towards the bar. He runs a hand through his hair and rolls out his shoulders, and Clarke pulls her phone out because despite Bellamy’s words she's not disappointed yet.

_Is your brother into me?_

Thankfully, Octavia’s reply is quick. _Yeah. Been in love with you for about a year. You really didn’t know?_

_Nah. Thanks tho._

_Break his heart and I break you._

_Good to know. Not gonna be a problem._

She pockets her phone when Bellamy returns, taking a moment to study him as he sets a beer down in front of her and slides into his seat. He’s avoiding her gaze, hands tapping out an uneven beat on the table, and Clarke can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips because he’s _nervous_ , and Bellamy Blake is never nervous around her.

So she takes a sip of liquid courage and hopes for the best. 

“You wanna know the worst thing about your short hair?”

He laughs, but it has an edge of desperation to it, a hint of something that makes Clarke’s heart hurt a little. He looks up from the table and shoots her a wry smile. “Yeah, go on.”

She returns it with one of her own and waits a beat before replying, looking him straight in the eye. “Because when I kiss you tonight I won’t have anything to run my hands through.” 

It’s almost comical watching his reaction, and after he opens and closes his mouth three times Bellamy manages to stutter out a “Yeah?”

Clarke grins then, a small laugh of relief bubbling through her. “Yeah.” 

“Fuck,” he says, disbelief in his voice, but soon he’s grinning too. “You’re — we’re — I mean. _Fuck._ ”

She laughs again, but then Bellamy’s out of his seat and pulling Clarke from hers, capturing the delighted sound with his lips and fucking _kissing her_. He kisses her like he’s been waiting his entire life for it, and in the end it’s just so _them_ : consuming and building and passionate. A hunger she remembers from when they were first learning about each other years ago; a sharpness to Bellamy’s tongue she recognises from arguments. 

He slides his hands down her back, pulling Clarke flush against him like he wants to learn her all over again in this new way, and because she remembers they’re still in the middle of the bar Clarke lets hers move to the nape of his neck, creeping higher to tug at his hair, a joke. Bellamy smiles against her lips when they pull apart, and Clarke swears she can taste the sweetness of it when he presses one last kiss to her mouth. 

“I’m sorry about my hair,” he tells her, low, and Clarke laughs, nuzzles into his neck. 

“You’re forgiven,” she replies, pulling back to see his swollen lips, how the usual browns of his eyes are now black. “As long as you promise to grow it out for me.”

Bellamy grins, and Clarke’s heart skips a beat. 

“I think I can manage that.”

*

Four months later it's just as Clarke loves and remembers, and she's delighted to learn that Bellamy Blake enjoys having his hair played with as much as she loves playing with it. 

"Mmm," he murmurs, lips wet against her bare stomach, the vibrations of his voice sending a warmth through her. "Just like that."

Clarke laughs, nails scraping against his scalp as her fingers card through the curls she's missed; the curls that are just so _him_. When she feels the curve of his smile against her skin she grasps a few locks and tugs him up. He comes willingly, propping himself on his elbows and letting Clarke lean up to join their mouths. She uses her grip to pull him over her body completely, and then the kiss is warm and wet, a laziness to it that's been perfected on Sunday mornings spent in bed together; drunken nights when they're too tired for anything more heated. 

"See," Clarke smirks when they pull apart, tugging once more playfully. "This is why I love it nice and long like this."

"You've already admitted to thinking my hair is a fundamental part of who I am," Bellamy teases, and Clarke grins up at him, wide and bright. 

"Yeah, okay," she concedes, eyes tracing his features fondly, landing quickly on her hand still playing with his curls before moving back to his eyes. She can always see that light behind them now, and she knows it's love shining through when he looks at her. "That too."


	10. Let’s see who comes out on top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based off a text post i once saw (i think): one time when i was a little drunk and laying in bed with a guy, i kissed his neck and mumbled “i could beat the shit out of you” in his ear. he said “i know”

It’s become an inside joke within their group in the last few years, ever since they all started hanging out at her and Raven’s dorm in sophomore year and Clarke declared after a few wine coolers that they should start a fight club. It basically boils down to this: _get Clarke drunk and step back before she starts throwing punches,_ with laughs and cheers thrown somewhere in there for good measure, and by now Clarke’s basically learnt to embrace it.

It’s not true of course; there have only been two incidents of _actual_ violence, and Clarke will defend to her dying day that they were both totally warranted and not _really_ her fault. Random guy at the club now knows that if he tries groping her without her consent, he’s in for a high heel being slammed into his foot, and Murphy has learnt that her warnings of being unable to control her limbs when tickled are very important, and he should abide by them unless he wants another accidental black eye. 

Mostly, Clarke’s more bark than bite when she’s drunk, getting into a weird mood where she thinks she can fight the world. (Bellamy likes the remind her that once she actually _did_ try to fight the world, slamming her fists against the grass in his backyard because for some reason she thought it’d help with global warming. (She’s not really sure what was in Monty’s moonshine that evening, but it’s safe to say she’s kept a wide berth from it ever since.))

Honestly, Clarke’s not really sure where it comes from, because she’s not typically a violent person, but when the alcohol flows she gets hyped up and declares that she’s the strongest out of everyone, and should probably prove it. Raven tells her that she’s just trying to assert her dominance within the group, and Clarke reminds her friend that she’s a mechanic and not a psychologist so can kindly _shut the fuck up._ Still, it happens pretty regularly, and she’s not actually totally certain Raven’s reasoning isn’t correct, so she lets her friends take the shit out of her for it, because she can probably stand to be taken down a peg or two sometimes. She at least prefers it over getting teased about her big, fat crush on Bellamy (as Wells puts it), which _also_ happens pretty regularly, although her friends are usually kind enough to keep it to times when the man in question isn’t around. 

So really, it’s fine. She knows what to expect when she’s had a few to drink, and so do her friends. 

Still, she’s kind of expecting that when a situation of importance comes up she’ll rein it in a little, even if she’s completely sloshed, but apparently Drunk Clarke has other ideas.

It’s kind of funny how it happens in the end. Everyone’s at Bellamy and Miller’s for their monthly games night, which involves pizza, a lot of shitty beer, and a game that has to be played be everyone sometime during the night. This month, it’s Raven’s turn to choose, and Clarke honestly shouldn’t be surprised that a little before midnight (after a round of Nintendo that has her losing Super Smash Bros and yelling at Miller to name a time and place so she can fight and beat him in real life), she gathers everyone up and declares that it’s time for Spin The Bottle.

It’s met with hoots and hollers, because all of her friends are very mature, and Clarke doesn’t miss the way Raven catches her eye and winks, shooting a pointed look at Bellamy before they all settle in a circle. It’s okay though, because she gives the same look to Wells before raising an eyebrow at Raven like a challenge, and it’s definitely a blush she can see creeping up on her friend’s cheeks.

It’s even _more_ worth the unsubtle setup when just three spins later Wells lands on Raven, and everyone cheers as they meet in the middle and share a kiss that’s definitely dirtier than totally necessary. 

They get some quality kisses throughout the game, some hilarious, some sweet, and some all dramatics and show, and Clarke wonders why they haven’t indulged in the high school game more in their years of friendship. It’s not until her sixth spin, after she’s shared ten kisses with seven people, that it actually dawns on her. The tip of the bottle lands on Bellamy, everyone in the circle goes a little quiet, and Clarke’s eyes widen as she realises that this is it. In the most juvenile way possible, she’s actually going to kiss him. The guy she’s had a crush on for over a year. The guy she often has to convince herself she’s not in love with. 

Bellamy himself looks a little shell-shocked, and it’s not until Murphy pointedly clears his throat that they both shake themselves out of their daze and crawl to the middle of the circle. He’s smirking, a wry tug to his lips, but there’s a glint of nervousness in his eyes too, and it’s sparks something like hope in Clarke’s chest.

“Hey,” he says, voice warm and rough and sending a shiver up her spine.

“Hey,” she echoes, smiling at him shyly. “So…”

“So, I’m just gonna—” he starts, scratching at the back of his neck, and then cuts himself off with a jerked shake of his head and leans in. 

The kiss is sweet, just a simple slide of his lips against her own, but it sparks something alight in Clarke’s heart and she feels herself leaning into it. She presses closer, revelling in the soft touch of his lips, in the scratch of his five o’clock shadow against her skin when she brings a hand up to cup his face. She feels warmer when she pulls away, lighter; vulnerable but also so sure that this is the beginning of something amazing. 

When she opens her eyes it’s to find Bellamy searching her face, and she can’t help but think he looks younger, more open, expression almost — hopeful. Clarke bites her lip to hide a smile, and in a moment of courage she nods just the tiniest bit. Bellamy’s grin grows slowly but surely until it’s absolutely brilliant, so wide and bright where it’s spread across his face, the joy in his expression uninhibited. She can feel the curve of it against her lips when he brushes his mouth to hers once more lightly, and she can’t help how her own smile grows.

“Hey,” he murmurs, ignoring the way everyone else is laughing and wolf-whistling at them, still in the middle of the circle but now a lot more wrapped up in each other. “Come to my room?”

Clarke nods, smile shy as Bellamy stands quickly, pulling her up with him. She has the good sense to flip everyone off as they leave the lounge room, the calls getting louder as they walk down the hall to Bellamy’s bedroom, and she feels the way his hand tightens around hers when Octavia loudly and obnoxiously yells a _finally._  

He pins her up against his bedroom door the moment it’s shut, and seals her mouth with his, sliding his tongue in when she gasps and kissing her wet and dirty. It’s hot, and Clarke moans into the kiss, tasting the shitty beer on his tongue but also something that’s just so _Bellamy._ By the time they break apart, chests heaving and eyes dark, Clarke’s legs are wrapped around his waist and her hands are carding through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“This isn’t just a hook up, right?”

“Not for me,” Clarke replies, voice rough from being thoroughly kissed. “After this I’m expecting to be wooed, Bellamy Blake.”

Bellamy barks out a laugh, but his eyes soften. “Good.”

The next kiss is slower, but just as consuming. Slow burning passion that bubbles under the surface until Clarke’s heart is swelling and she’s pulling Bellamy closer. He moves them onto his bed after a few minutes, sitting down so Clarke’s straddling his lap, and she pushes at his chest until he stops kissing her with a begrudging groan, instead lying down on his back beneath her. 

She looks at his for a minute, just taking in the mop of curls she mussed up with her fingers, how his lips are red and swollen and so incredibly tempting, the way his eyes are dark with lust but _warm_ with something more. She loves him, and she knows it now with perfect clarity, so it’s a bit of a surprise that when she leans down to press her lips to the column of his throat, lets them trail up his neck until she’s right by his ear, she decides to instead tell him —

“I could beat the shit out of you.”

His chest rumbles with his laughter and she can hear the smile in his voice when Bellamy says, “I know.” Clarke pulls back to look at him, catches the way his eyes flash like he’s accepting a challenge. “But in this case, let’s see who comes out on top.”

He flips them over a second later, grinning smugly from above her, and Clarke honestly can’t find it within herself to care.

She’ll let him have this one. 


	11. Admit it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy finds out Clarke likes him. Clarke is stubborn and can't back down from a challenge. A game of sexual chicken ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for a requested prompt on tumblr. Rated T/M probably ?

Clarke’s honestly not sure how she managed to get herself into this position: a hand resting on Bellamy’s as it trails slowly up her thigh, a shiver rolling down her spine when his breath whispers hot on her neck. It’s a far cry from where they were just a month ago: arms crossed and jaws clenched, voices raw from yelling and eyes swimming with anger and hurt.

Now it’s teeth grazing skin, a breathy warning of _“Bell,”_ as Clarke tries to get her mind on track, muster up some self control. Enough to stop his hand from where it’s promising to go, or push at his chest so the soft touch of his lips no longer burns her skin. But he’s very distracting, and after almost a month of this torture Clarke’s finding it difficult to remember why she can’t just give in to it. To all the temptation, the promise of undeniable pleasure. She rolls her bottom lip between her teeth, worries it when the soft scratch of Bellamy’s nails reaches the bottom of her skirt, slips beneath it. “Someone might see,” she tells him. An excuse; any excuse.

“You know how to stop this,” he reminds, voice low and rough. She feels his words vibrate along the column of her throat and it makes her swallow hard. Then, whispering in her ear, a challenge. “Just admit it.”

Her attempt at a scoff ends up coming out as a breathy sigh. Still, “I’m not admitting anything,” she says, impressed with the conviction she manages to lace her words with. She’s not surprised to hear the request, but she was almost hoping he’d let it go for once. That was stupid of her, obviously.

“Are you sure?” He asks. There’s smirk in his voice, smug and cocky and wholly infuriating, and it’s almost enough to make her grasp his hand and pull it away, leave him sitting in this booth alone with nothing but the image of her walking away. 

Almost. 

Instead, she spreads her legs wider, arches into him when his hand finally reaches the apex of her thighs, fingers trailing along the lace of her panties.

“Yes,” she breathes out, eyes fluttering open when she once again remembers where they are. The bar is crowded, and they’ve been left alone in the back corner booth while the others play pool. It’s dark and private, rarely visited by anyone but their group, but Clarke is still aware that generally, what they’re doing isn’t appropriate in a public place. It doesn’t mean she doesn’t find it incredibly hot, though.

“If you don’t admit it, you know how this will end.”

Oh, and she does. This past month has been nothing but Bellamy teasing her like this whenever he's had the chance, asking for one small confession when he thinks she’s most likely to give in. And after being denied, it’s getting her hot and flustered and begging in all ways he wants but one, before promptly stopping, leaving Clarke wet and frustrated. She’s had to get herself off to the memory of his touch more times than she can count in these past few weeks. And yes, it might be because she’s stubborn, but that’s a characteristic of hers that she’s learnt to live with.

It started a month ago, during a fight that she can now classify as seriously fucking ridiculous: a break up that Bellamy told Clarke was her fault resulting in a long, drawn out and frankly stupid argument, and ultimately leading to a realisation she desperately didn't want him him to make. 

“Do you… have feelings for me?” He had asked, after a long few minutes of silence, the last thing said between them Clarke’s scream of _you deserve better than her._ The softness of his voice was almost jarring in comparison to how loud they had just been with each other, and Clarke might’ve mistaken it for pity if it weren’t for the disbelief colouring the question.

Still, “No,” is what she decided to say, because — it was all too much, being on the spot like that. Of course she liked him; she realised she’d made the mistake of falling for her best friend a few months prior, but that’s not why she did any of this. It wasn’t a devious attempt to get Echo to end things with him, it was just her way of trying to protect his heart.

He wanted something serious; that much was obvious from all the times he drunkenly complained to her about just needing someone to curl up with at night, someone to watch shitty history documentaries on Netflix with. And it made Clarke’s heart ache hearing that, but she was determined to let her own feelings go to help him find that with someone he actually wanted. So when she had seen Echo, the girl he’d been seeing for about two months, with her tongue down someone else’s throat at a party one night, she confronted the girl. Not aggressively, and not by spitting out accusations of cheating or anything. Simply reminding her that Bellamy was an amazing guy, and deserved someone who knew that, someone that wouldn’t fuck him around. 

That’s what best friends did, and when she told Raven and Monty about the interaction later in the night, they both agreed. It had nothing to do with her own feelings for Bellamy, and it definitely didn’t warrant his reaction the next day when Echo ended things via text. That was totally on her, not Clarke. 

Bellamy however, didn’t think so, and because Clarke was unlucky enough to be spending her Sunday hungover at his place, she was told that. Loudly and repeatedly. It made a bit more sense when he actually read the message aloud, a completely unfair and _false_ account of how Clarke demanded she break things offs. It’s safe to say it spiralled after that. 

Each time she tried to explain what actually happened, Bellamy just countered it with a frustrated “we weren’t even exclusive, Clarke,” which he apparently though was explanation enough. And even when she continued by saying that Echo wasn’t the right girl for him, that her dumping him over text because of something so fucking _stupid_ proved that, he still wasn’t having any of it.

So Bellamy yelled, and Clarke yelled back, and it only ended when he implied that she didn’t want him to be happy and she just fucking _lost it,_ screaming a much too transparent “you deserve better than her!” in the heat of the moment.

Minutes went by after that, neither of them making a sound save for their heavy breathing. Clarke’s heart was caught in her throat and the tension between them prickled uncomfortably at her skin. It was too much, and when Bellamy finally cocked his head, looked at her carefully, she felt more exposed than she ever had in front of him before. His question hit the nail on the head, even if it was asked for the wrong reasons, and while Clarke denied him fiercely Bellamy only became more sure. 

“You don’t want Echo to be with me because _you_ want to be with me,” he had told her, a gleam in his eyes that made her wonder. His smile was wild, and when he stepped closer it felt so much like something was about to happen. But then, “Admit it,” he continued, and it was much easier for Clarke to let her stubborn streak take ahold than confront her feelings seriously. 

So, “Fuck you,” is what she went with, because she was a child and had yet to learn how to not take everything as a challenge. When she left his place a minute later she had no idea that it was far from the last time he’d ask that of her. _Admit it, admit it, admit it._

It wasn’t until a movie night with the gang a few days later — after they’d both apologised for the fight while refusing to acknowledge anything that happened after — that it came up again. Bellamy had always been a tactile person, but when he swung an arm around her shoulder, began playing with her hair, Clarke suspected something was going on. Still, she didn’t move. She told herself she just didn’t want to back down from whatever it was he was planning, which, to be fair, was true, but it probably had more to do with how good it felt. How it got he heart racing and her skin tingling, no matter how much her mind warned her to be wary. 

And later in the night, after an evening full of calloused hands that trailed softly along the back of her neck, nails that scratched at her scalp and fingers that worked gently through her hair, when he whispered “Admit it,” close to her ear, she knew it was the beginning of a game.

She didn’t admit anything, and it spiralled from there.

The next time it was a large palm resting innocently on her back as he leaned past her in the kitchen. That was followed by a kiss just below the jaw, breath hot against her neck for a fraction of a second before he murmured lowly to her. It was the following weekend at a club that it got a little less subtle: being pulled against a firm chest, his strong arm wrapping around her waist so they could dance together. _Admit it,_ was after the third song, once the music was practically thrumming within her, pulsing where she was desperate to be touched. But a shake of the head, and he was gone. And after that night it was worse: fingers that trailed up her leg, palmed her heat over her jeans and rubbed slowly; the cause of her shaky breaths thankfully hidden from their friends by a blanket. A mouth that left marks she later had to hide with too much concealer and strategically placed hair; tongue soothing any sting the graze of his teeth caused when she arched her neck into his touch.

And it’s been fun, in the most torturous way possible. A weird foreplay that’s extended to a month long game of chicken, one Clarke knows is soon going to end. Because she can’t keep this up much longer; her resolve is wavering regardless of how much she hates the idea of giving into Bellamy with the admission he wants. One that’s not even _true._

Sure, everything that’s happened has worked out weirdly in her favour, and when she finally tells him what he wants to hear, she knows that it’ll be the beginning of something more between them — any insecurities she had over his feelings for her have vanished in the moments of softness between all the games, the wonder in his eyes whenever she alludes to hers for him. But that doesn’t mean she actually _planned_ this; that she was trying to sabotage his relationship with Echo out of jealousy. She honestly doesn’t have that kind of foresight. 

And Bellamy knows that; knows she’s not that type of person. It’s just become a phrase he can chant easily, no longer holding any meaning other than _are you done being stubborn, yet?_ And she is, almost. It’s simply a waiting game now, and for his part, Bellamy’s making it extremely difficult to come up with any more reasons to wait.

“It’ll feel so good once you say it, babe,” he murmurs, as if she doesn’t already know that, isn’t already imagining just how good it’ll be. His voice is like gravel as it rumbles in his chest, and she can feel the vibrations of it on her skin. His fingers continue to tease over the lace of her panties and Clarke lets out a shaky sigh as she cants her hips into his touch. He tuts disapprovingly, pulling his hand back so it once again rests on her inner thigh, rough and delicious and still so promising. “Can’t let you do that, princess.”

“Bell,” she sighs, rolls her head to push his away from where he’s still nosing at her neck. His eyes are dark when he pulls back to look at her; she can see the lust and desire gleaming in them even in the shitty bar lighting, and just as she knows her resolve is wavering, it’s obvious that his is too. “Come on,” she pleads, leaning in to press a kiss along his jaw. She trails her lips up to his ear, grazes her teeth lightly. “You can have me now.”

The hitch in his breath sounds promising, but by the time Clarke shifts to look at him he’s schooled his expression into a challenging smirk, eyebrow raised. _You know what I want,_ it says. She groans, out of frustration this time, and pushes at his chest. _Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn_. He slides down the bench easily, removing his hand from her thigh with a regretful sigh.

“Your loss, babe,” he says cheekily, pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek before he stands. A surge of pride jolts in her chest when she sees that he has to readjust his pants, and he returns her smug grin with a playful one of his own. He isn’t denying that she affects him as much as he affects her, but that’s never really been the issue. “Drink?” He asks.

“Please,” she nods, admiring the view as he winks, turns around to head back to the bar. His ass looks perfect in the pair of jeans he’s wearing, and she can’t help but notice the way the muscles of his back ripple beneath his dark blue top. She’s definitely going to die when she finally sees him naked. It’ll be any day now.

Once he’s out of sight she releases a deep breath, trying to rein in the private, giddy smile that’s spread across her face, compose herself after all the teasing she’s just endured with his touch. She takes a much needed sip of water — she should probably just pour it over her face with how hot and flustered she now is — and looks out at the throng of people close by, quickly noticing Raven as she saunters over to the booth.

“So I know you’re determined to draw this whole thing out,” she says by way of greeting, sliding into the seat opposite Clarke. Clarke raises an eyebrow, not bothering with the act of confusion she’d put up with anyone else. Raven is a bullshit detector, and Clarke’s pretty sure she caught onto this thing with Bellamy at about the same time she did herself. “But I thought you should know that Echo’s here, and may currently be chatting up your boy at the bar.”

“Huh,” Clarke says, the smile on her face quickly falling to a frown. The flirty, excited and slightly nervous mood that she could feel with each beat of her heart, that tingled at her skin in anticipation, drops all at once, and an unexpected surge of possessiveness takes its place. Bellamy’s not hers, but he’s — well, he’s more hers than he is Echo’s. In a way where Clarke’s totally acknowledging that he’s an actual human being who can decide what’s best for him himself. 

But, well, just like she said when this all began: he deserves better.

She stands abruptly, earlier nerves returning with a hint of embarrassment. It feels ridiculous doing this — like she’s about to _compete_ for him or something. She’s not, but it’s probably time to end this whole game. Anyway, Bellamy deserves to be told he’s wanted — that _she_ wants him — despite how stupidly obvious it is. 

_“Go.”_

“I’m going,” Clarke grumbles, shooting Raven a glare as she runs a hand through her hair. Discretely readjusting her top, she glances down to make sure a decent amount of cleavage is on display as she walks to the bar. It would probably be more mortifying if anything else she’d done this past month had been any less pathetic.

They’re chatting easily at the bar when she heads over, apparently any anger or awkwardness from the break up forgotten, and Clarke leans against the bar top next to Bellamy, ordering a shot of vodka when the bartender asks what she’s drinking. Clear liquor is what she drinks when she needs a shot of courage, which of course Bellamy knows; she’s not surprised to find him already watching her when she turns around, a mixture of shock and hope etched on his face.

The bartender hands Clarke’s shot over and she exchanges it for a few notes before looking over Bellamy’s shoulder. Echo’s face is drawn into an expression of mild annoyance, and it might be bitchy, but Clarke can’t find it within herself to care. If the girl seriously wanted Bellamy she wouldn’t have hooked up with someone else after she’d been seeing him for two months, and definitely wouldn’t have broken things off with him by text. Clarke’s sure she can handle whatever comes next.

Bringing the shot to her lips, she tips her head back until she feels the vodka burn a trail down her throat, spread a warmth through her chest. It draws out a feeling of boldness from within her, and Clarke holds onto it when she meets Bellamy’s eyes again. His smile is softer now, an easy look of content in his eyes that somehow feels more intimate than anything else she’s witnessed in the past few weeks. She can’t help but think he looks a little proud too. _Courage,_ she remembers, taking a deep breath and grabbing his arm. 

He calls out a goodbye to Echo as she leads him away and out of the bar, and then they’re standing on the sidewalk, the cool summer breeze prickling at her skin a little, sweeping her skirt up around her thighs. Bellamy’s watching her expectantly, his grin now cocky and infuriatingly handsome. The only upside to this whole thing is that she’s pretty sure she’ll be kissing it off his face soon. Okay, not the _only_ upside.

She clears her throat, crosses her arms once more in a defensive stance. Stubborn till the end. “I would never attempt to break you up with someone,” she tells him, brows furrowed as she tries hard not to scowl. Bellamy’s smile turns wry, and he steps closer, bringing a hand to her face so his thumb can rub the creases from her forehead.

“I know,” he mollifies, soothing. He wraps an arm around her waist until they’re chest-to-chest and Clarke’s surrounded by his warmth. Some of the annoyance at the absolute stupidity of the situation dissolves when she feels his lips move against her temple. “I never thought you would.”

She doesn’t ask _so why then?_ because she knows why. Instead it’s, “Stop distracting me,” that she whines, pushing at his chest and feeling his chuckle rumble beneath her palms. He steps back to give her some space, taking a hand instead, and his thumb immediately begins rubbing along the rise and dips of her knuckles. It’s oddly comforting, and the softness that’s once again sparkling in his eyes tells her it’s not a coincidence. With a deep breath she continues. “I would never attempt to break you up with someone,” she repeats, ignoring how his smile begins to grow even wider, a little relieved too, because it’s stupidly distracting. Everything about him is stupidly distracting, even when he’s just standing with her like this. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not glad you aren’t with Echo anymore. So, I admit it,” she tells him, and it feels a lot less like relinquishing power than she thought it would. Instead it’s something softer, something warmer, and it makes her heart ache a little because he looks so amazed that she’s actually doing this, even when this past month has been building to it. Bellamy’s so _good,_ but he never sees it in himself, never understands why he’s loved as much as he is. So, finishing it all with a quiet confession, because he deserves to be told point blank: “I want to be with you, Bell. Only you.”

And she’d be embarrassed about the whole thing but then Bellamy’s just fucking _beaming_ at her, so ridiculously happy it kind of takes Clarke’s breath away. “Thank fucking god,” he breathes out, before catching her mouth with his own. And Clarke will always remember her first kiss with Bellamy Blake as a fucking mess, because they’re both smiling too hard to make it work, clacking teeth and laughing into each other’s mouths. Eventually they slow it down, make it work in a way that feels inevitable, and the slow slide of Bellamy’s lips against hers, the careful touch of his tongue sends sparks of excitement running through her body that somehow feel _more_ than anything else she’s felt this last month. He rests his forehead against hers after a minute, just allowing them a moment to breathe, and she giggles into the small space between them. She can still feel his smile, and when his hands come up to cradle her face carefully she can’t help but tilt her head to steal its warmth with a kiss. “I only want to be with you, too,” he tells her, sweet but mostly unnecessary. 

“I was getting mixed signals every time you tried to hook up with me this past month, yeah.”

“Brat,” Bellamy laughs, pinching her side when Clarke grins cheekily. She squeals in protest, but he keeps her close anyway, wraps his arms around her waist. “Still, I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed our recent time together,” he says, meeting her teasing words easily. His face twists into an exaggerated expression of thought, and somehow he manages to keep a straight face when he continues. “I’m actually surprised you gave in so soon. I was really in it for the long haul, you know? Came up with plans and strategies, tried to work out your weaknesses.” He taps a finger to his top as evidence and Clarke can feel herself colour a little. Yeah, she probably hasn't been very discrete. “I’m actually a little disappointed I won’t get to see how it all plays out,” he finishes, and it sounds an awful lot like another challenge. Clarke grins, shakes her head at the ridiculous man in front of her.

“You’re such a fucking dork.” Pulling away from his arms, she slides her hand into his instead, begins to lead them across the road. Bellamy catches on quickly — her apartment is only two blocks over — and his eyes flash as he drops his thoughtful expression, raises an eyebrow at _her_ silent challenge. “Now, are you at least a dork that’s as good with his tongue as I’ve been imagining?”

He barks a laugh before leaning in to kiss her again, wet and deep and breathless, as if to prove _just_ how good with his tongue he can be. Which is, in all fairness, very good. Clarke can’t help but get a little lost in the kiss, and when Bellamy finally pulls back he looks thoroughly satisfied at what she can only imagine is her dazed and slightly boneless expression. Still, because he’s just as stubborn as she is and can never back down: “Only one way to find out.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from @bellamybb, who wanted something happy, canon-verse and with kids.

“ _Mu-um._ ”

“ _Juli-a._ ”

“I wanna go with Dad,” Julia whines, pulling her best puppy dog eyes and pouting her lips as she looks up to Clarke. She definitely learnt that trick from Bellamy, Clarke thinks; using those big brown eyes to get what she wants.

“Baby, Dad’s busy. He’s gotta be quick or else he won’t make it back here before dinner.”

Julia stamps her foot, mustering all the frustration a five year old probably can.

“But Gus gets to go!” She complains. “That’s not fair! I want to go, too!”

“That’s because Gus is too young to be left alone,” Clarke explains in her most soothing voice. She looks over to the little guy in question, currently strapped to Bellamy’s chest as he gets a bag for his day trip organised. The sight makes her grin goofily, but she tamps it down before her daughter sees and gets even more upset. “Don’t you want to spend the day with Raven and Luna? I know they’ve got some gadgets for you to look at.”

Julia shakes her head, frowning. “They don’t give me piggy backs as good as Daddy does,” she retorts, as though that explains everything. In her mind, it probably does.

Clarke sighs, knowing there’s probably no use in trying to get her daughter excited about an alternative. She may have her father’s looks, but that stubbornness is all Clarke.

“Alright,” Clarke says, leaning down to press a kiss to Julia’s forehead. “Bell,” she calls, watching as her husband looks up, his smile turning wide and bright when he sees them together; his wife and his daughter. “Looks like it’s a family trip today. You better pack more rations.”

Beside her, Julia starts jumping up and down in excitement before barreling over to her dad, dark curls blowing wildly in the wind. Clarke heads over a few minutes later, after grabbing her own bag and letting Monty know where they’re going.

“I’ve been informed you’ll be carrying the little one today,” Bellamy murmurs when Clarke reaches him, smile wry as he unfastens the strap to the baby carrier. He helps put in onto Clarke, eyes turning soft and loving as he watches her say hello to their four month old gurgling son.

“Apparently you’re the only one that’s up to her standards of piggy backs,” Clarke explains, leaning over to press a kiss to his lips, soft and familiar. They saw each other less than an hour ago, but it’s her favourite thing, kissing him hello. “Hope you don’t mind making this a family outing. I know you wanted the trip to be quick.”

Bellamy shrugs, finding her hand and giving it a quick squeeze. “I’ll never say no to spending the day with you.”

Clarke grins, but is interrupted from any response when Julia takes Bellamy’s hand and starts tugging in the direction of the gate.

“Come _on,_ ” she huffs, impatient and excited all at once. “I wanna see the butterflies! And Nathan said we can feed his chickens after! And, and, can we roll down that big hill? Raven said fairies live in the mushrooms down the bottom!”

“Alright, alright,” Bellamy laughs, smiling down at their daughter indulgently. He’s such a sucker for her, it’s honestly a little ridiculous. “I’m sure we can fit that all in.” He shoots Clarke a teasing grin, one that’s all for her. “A lot can happen in a day, after all.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from @chris-evahns, who wanted bellamy waking up from a nightmare

It takes Bellamy a moment to realise what’s woken him, the darkness of night and the fear from his nightmare shaking him enough to feel confused and unsteady.

The feeling is familiar, these days: the trembling of his hands and the beads of sweat gathered on his forehead. The racing heart and the tight feeling rooted deep in his chest that something awful has happened.

He gasps for breath, blinking heavy eyes to rid the images etched into his sight. Of Octavia with her fists and Gina with her smile and Clarke with the burns covering her skin. Everyone he’s failed in one way or another.

“You’re okay,” he hears, soft and soothing, and it’s then that he realises his position. What’s woken him. His head is in Clarke’s lap, her fingers carding through his hair, gentle, and she’s talking him down. “It was just a dream,” she’s saying, looking down at him with tired eyes and a kind smile. “You’re safe. Everyone’s safe. It was just a dream.”

And this is familiar too, both Clarke’s words and Clarke’s actions. Bellamy wishes he could say that it’s the first time he’s woken her with one of his nightmares, but it’s not. They’ve been coming less and less with time, since they’ve found somewhere to settle permanently and are living in something close to peace, since he and Clarke have begun sharing a cabin, but they still do come. Hers do too, and on those nights he gathers her in his arms, cradling her head to his chest because he knows she likes to listen to his heartbeat. Something solid and real that anchors her.

For him it’s this: her soothing voice reassuring him; the low hum of a song he used to sing to Octavia and has since taught Clarke; a simple touch to let him know that she’s here and okay. Alive and with him.

Her hand moves from him hair to stroke the curve of his cheek, the edge of his jaw. Runs down his neck and to his chest, resting steadily on his heart. It’s like she thinks she can slow it with her touch alone, and Bellamy’s honestly not convinced she can’t, because he feels himself calm, his heart falling back into a normal rhythm.

She’s still talking, watching him with careful eyes as he stares back up at her, just taking her in for all he can see her when she’s casted in shadows.

Eventually he comes to his senses enough to find her hand on his chest, bring it to his lips and press a kiss to her palm. It’s how they say thank you when they can’t find the words; with these gestures, with the heavy emotions in their eyes.

Clarke smiles, leans down to kiss him gently on the forehead, her breath fanning against his skin warm and light. She readjusts, lifting his head from her lap and back onto his pillow before settling back down next to him in their bed. Without a word she wraps him up in her arms, tucking her face into his neck.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asks, the words mumbled against his skin.

He shakes his head no, nudging her legs to fit one of his own between them. It’s what he needs after nights like this; to be close and warm and secure.

“Okay,” Clarke says, pulling back to lean her forehead against his. “You’re safe,” she repeats, soft and sure. “And I’m safe. And your people are safe.” Bellamy nods, pulling her closer despite the belief he has in her words.

They lay like that for a long while, Clarke going back to humming that song and Bellamy breathing her in. There’s something sweet about how she smells, something comforting.

“I love you,” he says eventually, once he’s found his voice. He can feel her small smile in the space between them.

“I know,” she responds, tilting her head just slightly to brush her lips against his, warm and brief and familiar. “I love you, too.”

The sun will be rising soon, and they’ll have to return to their busy lives of building a society. The nightmares will still come for the both of them, and there will be difficult times ahead, he knows. But for now he’s got this; Clarke, safe in his arms, telling him she loves him. It’s enough.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from @broodybellamys, who asked for Bellamy hiding an injury from Clarke

No worries love! Hope you enjoy :)

“You know she’s going to find out.”

“Shut up,” Bellamy grumbles, wrapping his hand up haphazardly in a bandage. It’s not bleeding _that_ much, and it’ll hold until they get back. It’ll be a longer trip with his hurt leg, but Bellamy’s about 99% sure he’ll survive.

“I’m just saying,” Miller says, coming up to stand next to him. “When this blows up in your face, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be thinking of you when it happens,” Bellamy responds, dry.

Miller snorts a laugh, but leaves it at that, pulling Bellamy’s arm over his shoulder to support him in favour of giving him any more grief. It’s not like Bellamy doesn’t _know;_ of course he knows. He can practically play out how it’ll go down in his head, he knows so well.

First, Clarke will worry, brows pulling in concern and eyes roaming his body quickly for any more injuries. Next, she’ll usher him into medical, snapping at whoever’s in there with her for supplies as she patches him up, voice wavering when she sees his bruised and bloody body. And finally, once she knows he’s okay and going to live, she’ll yell at him. For putting his life at risk, for being a reckless idiot, for making everyone around him worry. All those things she likes the throw at people when they scare her.

So really, not telling Clarke is just going to save them all the trouble. He’ll go to Luna to get himself patched up, because healing people is one of those things that comes naturally to her, and he’ll request a day off from Lieutenant Miller, to give his body some time to rest and recover. It’s fine, and Clarke will never have to know.

Unsurprisingly, she finds him in his cabin three hours later.

No knock on the door, just the sound of her boots getting louder until she finally pulls it open and steps into his place, eyes roaming around quickly before they land on him, sitting at the table with a book in his hand.

“Clarke,” Bellamy greets, even. He’s not naive enough to think she doesn’t know, not with the way her eyes are hard and and her jaw is set and her nostrils are flaring. Still, he may not be naive, but he’s still a bit of an asshole. So, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her jaw works for a moment before she turns around and closes the door behind her. She takes measured steps into his cabin, pulling out a chair opposite him and sitting down.

“Just wanted to know how the trip went,” she says, voice low and flat. So this is how it’s going to go. She’s not going to say anything herself, she’s going to wait for him to confess. Of course. Bellamy rolls his eyes.

“It went well, I think,” he responds casually. He can’t deny that there’s part of him that loves the fire that begins to burn in her eyes. There’s something beautiful about it, about her, when she gets like this. “We’ll have a good supply of meat when winter comes.”

Clarke nods, watching him closely, her eyes flicking from his gaze every few seconds as though she’s trying to find where he’s hurt. “That’s good,” she says after a beat. “It’ll make the colder months here less demanding. We just need to make sure we store and ration everything correctly.”

Bellamy’s mouth ticks up in a smile. Even when she’s angry she’s still always thinking about the next thing. For their people. Always for their people.

“I got you something,” he says, when it looks like she won’t continue. Clarke raises her eyebrows in surprise and his smile softens. He loves getting to surprise her with these little things. He reaches across the table to grab his pack, opening it and finding what he’s looking for. “Monty showed me what it looked like,” he explains, handing over the package. “Abscess root, right? I heard you talking about needing some more a few days ago. And we were going to be in the area.”

From one second to the next it’s like all the fight is knocked from Clarke. She looks up from the package in her hands to him, smile small and grateful, but eyes still sad.

“Thank you,” she says, quiet, before looking away. It’s not before Bellamy sees a shine of tears in her eyes, though, one that makes his chest fill with worry. “You went to Luna,” she continues before he can say anything about it.

“What?”

She takes a deep breath before looking back at him, more composed now. “You got hurt and you went to Luna,” she says, and this time it sounds like an accusation. “Why?”

Bellamy sighs, running a hand over his face. “To avoid this,” he says, gesturing between them. “I didn’t want you to worry Clarke. It’s nothing, just a few scrapes and bruises, but I didn’t want to add to the long list of things you’re always worrying about.”

“That — that’s _bullshit,_ Bellamy!” She responds, raising her voice as she shakes her head. The fire is back, which feels worlds better than tears. Fuck, he didn’t want to make her _cry_. “You don’t get to decide what I worry about,” she continues, standing up and stepping in front of him, hands placed firmly on her hips. “You don’t get to _not_ tell me these things. And, and — what if something happened? And I didn’t know? And it was serious, but you were too stubborn to let me know?”

“Hey, _hey,_ ” he says, catching her hand in his own. She settles down a bit, relaxing into his touch as he rubs a thumb over her hand. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

“You don’t _know that._ ”

“Okay, you’re right, I don’t. But if it was serious, I’d go to you, Clarke. Always you, I promise. I just didn’t want to worry you. I know how busy you are.”

“We’re all busy, Bellamy,” Clarke retorts, shaking her head, but she doesn’t sound angry so much as tired now. She moves the sit in front on him, taking his hand in hers and removing the bandage gently, touch careful not to hurt him. “But I’m never too busy for you, okay?” Her eyes flick up to his for a second, earnest, and he nods. She does too, deflating a little before she returns to look at his hand closely, run her fingers over it lightly. “This is — this what we are for each other, Bellamy, and — and even if I’m angry, it’s only because I care. Because I hate seeing you get hurt.”

“Okay,” Bellamy says, voice soft but thick with emotion. This is what he wanted to avoid, seeing Clarke all upset like this, but she’s right. This is what they are for each other, and if she was hurt and he didn’t know, he’d go out of his mind when he found out. It’s one of those things he’s still getting used to, accepting the fact that Clarke cares about him just as much as he cares about her. But he’s getting there, he is. “I’m sorry,” he adds, reaching forward to tilt her chin up so she looks at him, sees the sincerity in his eyes.

“It’s okay,” she says. She smiles, soft and small, and leans up to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m sorry, too.”

They’re quiet while she checks on all his other injuries, but when she’s finished she speaks up again.

“Now you know you’re going to have to tell me what happened so that I can call you an idiot.”

Bellamy chuckles and Clarke grins at him, eyes shining brighter than they have since she stormed into his cabin. “I know, Clarke,” he says around a smile. “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from @hiddenpolkadots, who wanted something cute and fluffy in canon-verse

They’re out exploring when they discover it.

It’s a combination of chance and curiosity more than anything, honestly. Bellamy’s not sure they’re going to find anything of interest, but Clarke’s just so _eager,_ and he likes spending time with her like this. Just the two of them, outside in the warm weather, the sun beaming down bright and lovely, with nothing but time.

“Just a little bit further,” she promises, not for the first time this past half hour.

“You don’t even know where we’re going,” Bellamy points out with a laugh. She glances back to shoot him a grin and he just rolls his eyes. It’s all the acceptance she needs, and she speeds up their trekking with renewed vigour.

“We’re going to find something,” she says, determined, and he simply laughs again. He’s pretty sure she could make something materialise out of nowhere if her will alone allowed it.

“If you say so,” he responds, fond but doubtful.

And of course they do find something, following the sound of water until they step out from the thick foliage of the forest and onto the open grassy riverbank. Something that takes his breath away.

A waterfall.

“Holy shit,” Clarke breathes out as she takes in the view before them.

It’s maybe twenty feet tall, the stream of water tumbling over a series of boulders and pooling at the bottom to meet a wide and gentle river. The water is gorgeous, blue and green and clear enough to see down to the riverbed, the pebbles and the plants and the fish swimming through it, and the surroundings are just as much. Moss-covered rocks and trees standing tall and large and flowers he doesn’t think he’s ever seen before in bright and gorgeous colours.

It’s beautiful, serene in a way Bellamy forgot Earth could be, with how much death and destruction it seems to have delivered them. But this place feels untouched and perfect, a small pocket of the world that right now, is all theirs. He wonders if they’re the first to witness it since the nuclear apocalypse. It feels that way. He and Clarke, together.

“We found something,” Clarke says after a long minute, voice full of wonder, and when Bellamy glances her way her smile is wide and her eyes are holding nothing but awe.

“You did, yeah,” he responds, knocking his shoulder with hers.

“I wouldn’t have if you didn’t agree to come,” she points out, pulling off her backpack and setting it down on the grass. When she looks at him she’s beaming, and he falls a little more in love with her, if that’s even possible. “We can go in, yeah?”

Bellamy’s lips tick up into an amused smile. “Doesn’t look like there are any mutant water animals living in here, does it?”

Clarke laughs, throwing her head back with it, and Bellamy can’t help but grin at the sight. He loves seeing her like this, unabashedly happy and without a care in the world. It makes his chest bloom with warmth.

They set themselves up quickly, Bellamy pulling out the small mat they brought and setting their bags down on it. They strip with little fanfare, each tugging off their clothes until they’re down to their underwear.

He’s seen Clarke naked hundreds of times by now, but still his eyes move to trace her body almost reverently. He loves every single part of her, from the swell of her stomach to the stretch marks on her hips, from the curve of her breasts to the mole above her lips. She’s smirking when he meets her gaze, teasing and a little smug like she always is when he gets lost at the sight of her.

“Stopping there?” She asks with a pointed look down, a challenge, and Bellamy snorts, raising an eyebrow as he pulls down his briefs. Clarke laughs, delighted, but he sees the way her eyes turn dark and a little mischievous, too. She steps out of her panties and unclasps her bra, letting them fall to the ground. Then, “Come on,” she says with a grin, offering him her hand.

He takes it, and together they walk to the river edge. It’s only a few feet deep, and they lower themselves down into it.

“Oh, wow,” Bellamy laughs. The water’s _warm._

“Hot springs,” Clarke says, her laugh coming out surprised and delighted.

He steps further into the river slowly, and Clarke follows a second later. They wade around together for a while, just enjoying the feel of the water on their skin, of it turning their hair silky smooth, exchanging easy words and soft kisses. Their smiles never leave their faces. Bellamy can feel his widen each time Clarke laughs heartily, or squeals when he tickles her sides, or looks at him in amazement as she discovers something hidden in the depths of the water.

He’s so fucking in love with her it’s ridiculous.

“We should go under the waterfall,” she suggests after they’ve grown accustomed to the gentle flow of the river, to the warmth of the water around them and the sun shining from above. “Do you think it’ll be like a shower?”

“With about a hundred times the water, maybe,” Bellamy says, earning himself a splash in the face.

“Shut up,” Clarke mutters, although she can’t keep the smile off her face. She pulls him under before he even gets a chance to think twice about it, her laugh turning into a surprised squeak at the cool rush of water over them.

It’s falling heavily, but Bellamy can’t say he minds the feeling. There’s something refreshing in the way it runs from the top of his head down the planes of his body to meet the water below, leaving his skin prickling. Peaceful too, the white noise of rushing water pushing everything from his mind, leaving nothing but this feeling of content rooted deep in his chest right now and the girl who’s experiencing it with him.

She folds herself into his arms, and they stay like that for a few minutes, together under the cascade of the waterfall.

Eventually they make it back into the open river, after Clarke gets cold and lets Bellamy know by tugging on his arm and spitting a mouthful of water in his face. He sputters and she laughs, and he challenges her to a water fight, and she does the same with an underwater handstand competition. They splash each other and they race around this little, wonderful space they’ve found together. They talk and they laugh and they kiss and they get carried away on the riverbank for half an hour or so, until their faces are flushed red and they’re too exhausted to do anything more than just float on their backs and enjoy the sun.

And when that begins to set, turning the sky shades of pink and orange he knows Clarke would love to paint, she swims up to him. It’ll be getting dark soon, and they’ll need to make dinner and put up a tent, but right now his thoughts are only for Clarke, naked and gorgeous and wading through the water to meet him. She locks her legs around his waist and curls her arms around his shoulders, and he pulls her closer, loving the feeling of her right here, skin against skin.

“I told you this was a good idea.”

Bellamy chuckles lightly, closing his eyes. He can feel Clarke’s smile between them, knows it’s wide and bright and full of love. “You did. And it was.”

She hums, nosing at his neck. “I love you.”

“Yeah,” he says, sighing in content when she presses her lips to his shoulder. He feels so full with her, with this easy happiness and with this day and with this place they’ve found. It’s enough to feel like it’ll burst from his chest, so he just holds her tighter, closer, and presses his smile into her hair. “I love you too.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from @ravsreyes, who wanted bellamy taking care of a sick clarke

It takes all of ten seconds for Bellamy to come to his assessment.

“You’re sick,” he says, his voice somehow both amused and accusatory as he watches her closely from the doorway.

Clarke screws up her nose, shaking her head despite the way the simple movement _hurts._ She steps to the side, letting Bellamy into her apartment.

“I’m not _sick,_ ” she grumbles, trying her hardest not to sniffle. Her nose is somehow stuffy and runny at the same time, but that doesn’t _mean anything._ “I don’t get sick,” she continues haughtily, knowing her tone will make him grin. “I haven’t been sick since I was in high school, and I’m not about to start now.”

Bellamy snorts a laugh, shooting her an eye roll over his shoulder as he makes his way into her kitchen. “I’m sure your immune system is ashamed not to be following your very strict instructions, princess, but you’re sick.”

Clarke glares at him, folding her arms across her chest. “No I’m _not,_ ” she stresses, falling into one of the kitchen stools dramatically. She feels weak. Her head is all cloudy, her eyes are stinging just from staying open, and all she wants to do is lie down and never get back up, but there’s no way she’s saying that to _Bellamy._ Mother hen that he is, he’d probably send her to the doctor. “What are you doing anyway?” She asks, frowning when he emerges from her pantry with a range of vegetables. “The movie starts in an hour, and you know the metro will be hell.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow, keeping his gaze steady on her even as he begins chopping up a carrot. “Oh yeah, there’s no way you’re going outside today. I’m making you soup, because you’re sick, and need something warm and healthy that will clear your sinuses.”

“I’m not sick!” Clarke says, but she’s cut off by a coughing fit that goes on for about half a minute, which feels like one big _fuck you_ from her body. “I’m a little… under the weather,” she grants, once she can breathe again. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

Bellamy laughs, eyes crinkling fondly. “Clarke,” he says slowly, smiling at her. “If you don’t go lie down on the couch right now, I’ll haul you over my shoulder and put you there myself.”

Clarke scoffs, sending him a dirty look as she retreats to the lounge room. In all honesty, she would love to call his bluff, because being manhandled by Bellamy like that would be an experience indeed, but ultimately her body is too sore to take the risk. Instead, she flops down onto the couch, pulling a blanket on top of her, and flicks on the TV to find something to watch while Bellamy’s busy.

She doesn’t even notice she’s falling asleep, but the next thing Clarke knows she’s waking up to the smell of something delicious in her apartment. Blinking up slowly, sleep in her eyes and slowing her mind, she finds Bellamy smiling at her softly, fingers curled around her shoulder to shake her gently.

“Not sick, huh?” He says, teasing, helping pull her up when she struggles to sit by herself.

“How long have I been out?” She ask with a frown. It’s still light out, so she knows she at least hasn’t slept through the whole day, but she does feel a lot more rested.

“About two hours,” Bellamy tells her, readjusting the blanket to cover her again before placing a cushion on her lap. He carefully places a bowl of soup on top of it, making sure Clarke has a hand on it before settling in next to her with a bowl of his own. “It’s got a bit of a kick,” he says, handing her a spoon with a sly smile, “but that will do you some good.”

Clarke smiles, eyes heavy and still a little sore. She takes a deep breath, already feeling the effects of the spices he’s added to their lunch, her nose clearing a little and her head feeling less crowded.

“Thank, Bell,” she says, soft. “You didn’t have to do this for me.”

Bellamy ducks his head with a shy smile, tips of his ears flushing red. “You’re my best friend, Clarke,” he mutters. “Of course I’m going to take care of you when you’re sick.”

Clarke feels a flush grow on her cheeks herself, but rather than responding just settles in and takes her first mouthful. She moans with the taste, unsurprised that Bellamy’s managed to whip up something delicious from what she already had in her kitchen.

“You’re amazing,” she says, dropping her head onto his shoulder. “And I owe your forever.”

“I’ll remember that,” he says around a smile.

She wolfs down the rest of her meal hungrily, feeling miles better for it, chest warm and belly full and head clear. Still, they stay sitting on the couch together, flicking through channels like she’s used to with Bellamy.

And it would be just like any other day with him, except that he lets her choose the discovery channel without so much as a mention of the history channel, an argument that usually takes up half an hour of their time. Except that, after she complains about her aching feet, he pulls them into his lap and rubs them deep and slow, until she’s all but melting into his touch. Except that, when she gets riled up from a debate — about what’s worse, watching a predator go without eating or its prey being caught and killed — and starts coughing again, he shoots her the most concerned look he can probably muster, bringing her tissues and water and cold and flu tables.

Except that, the tablets he brings her are the drowsy kind, and soon her head is all warm and fuzzy and her eyes are heavy and her body feels ready to melt into whatever surface is available.

It happens to be Bellamy’s lap, because without her usual self control, she demanded he pet her as they watched the rest of Planet Earth. He was a little startled by the request, but happily complied, and now his finger and running through her hair and his nails are scratching at her scalp, and Clarke feels so warm and content and hazy it might all actually be a dream.

“I love you,” she sighs after a while, nuzzling into his thigh a little as her eyes fall closed. His fingers stop their path in her hair, and she makes a noise of distress, nudging his hand with her head until he starts moving them again.

“What?” Bellamy asks, voice strange for a reason she can’t understand. Not with the way she’s feeling, that warm kind of sleepiness you get when you’re sick.

“I said I love you,” she says, running a hand up his leg to find his, resting on her arm. He takes it hesitantly, but gives it a squeeze when she laces their fingers together. She sighs sleepily into his leg, feeling herself drift off.

“I love you, too,” he says, soft and small, like a secret, and Clarke feels herself smile as she finally falls to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from @sherlockvowsontheriverstyx, who wanted bellarke cuddling.

“I hate you.”

“I know.”

“No, like I _really_ hate you. So, so much.”

Bellamy smiles, leans down to drop a kiss to her forehead. “I know,” he says easily, fondly. _Indulgently,_ which grates on Clarke’s nerves even more. “I hate you, too.”

She shakes her head, folding her arms across her chest so that they lay on top of her belly. With only a few weeks to go, it’s large and round and a constant source of discomfort. And with the current heat wave that’s fallen over their settlement, that discomfort doesn’t even fade when she’s lying in bed or folded into Bellamy’s arms. Instead it’s accompanied by the antsy feeling of being hot and bothered. And while she can’t blame Bellamy for the weather, she can certainly blame him for the other part.

“This is all your fault,” she accuses, narrowing her eyes at him. “You and your stupid arms.”

His lips quirk into an amused smile, and she hates how much she loves it because she’s _angry_  goddammit. “My arms?”

“Yes,” she huffs, sending him a glare. “Your arms are big and muscly and I can’t be held accountable for jumping you because of them. And _now_ look at me,” she says, gesturing to herself, sprawled out on their bed in nothing but her underwear, stomach ballooned and brows drawn, with a light sheen of sweat on her skin. “Your. Fault.”

Bellamy laughs, the sound coming out light and delighted. He’s not taking her seriously, she knows, but she probably can’t blame him for that. She sounds ridiculous even to her own ears, petulant and childish, and she knows she looks it just as much.

“Okay,” he says with a grin. “It’s my fault.” He leans down, slow enough that she can pull away if she wants, and presses his lips to hers when she remains in place. “I love you,” he mumbles against her mouth, smiling when she can’t help but kiss him again.

“I love you, too,” she grumbles. “But I also hate you.”

“That’s fair,” he allows, before dropping a kiss to her belly, pressing his cheek to her skin. “And I love you. Be good to your mum and don’t be too active in there, okay?” The baby shifts and Clarke rolls her eyes. “No, not like that,” he chides lightly, grinning at Clarke when she huffs a laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m going. I’ll come back for lunch, okay? There’s ice here, and please call Raven or Monty if you want to go out today. I don’t want to find out you’ve collapsed half way to the hall.”

“I _will,_ ” Clarke says with a roll of her eyes, shooing Bellamy away. “Go enjoy your 100 degree work day. The baby and I will be fine.”

“Okay.” He hesitates for a moment before leaning in to kiss Clarke one more time, slow and deep and long. It’s getting harder for him to leave her in the mornings, she knows. With the baby almost here, they’re running out of time for just the two of them, and while they’re both very excited to meet the little one, they know she’s going to take over their lives for a good long while. It makes it all the more frustrating for Clarke, knowing she’s not being the best company right now. But Bellamy doesn’t seem to mind her grumblings or rantings or the fact that she’s half-seriously blaming him for her current predicament. Apparently he knows how to handle her in any situation, even if it is 38 weeks pregnant in the middle of a heat wave. “I love you.”

“I know. I love you, too.”

“Not hate?”

“Only a little.” She can feel his smile on her lips and pushes him in the direction of their door, knowing if he lingers any longer they’re going to want to get carried away before ultimately deciding against it. Better not to go down the path altogether. “Have a good day.”

“You too, babe,” Bellamy says, sending her a smile before finally heading out the door.

Clarke finds herself smiling as well, a hand moving to caress her belly. “Okay baby, what do you want to do today?”

She decides to clean up the cabin first, needing to feel useful after the week she’s been out of action since being ordered off work due to the heat. By the time the place is tidy and Clarke’s sorted through the array of gifts they received at their baby shower a few weeks ago, it’s already uncomfortably hot. Not unbearable, but enough so that Clarke fills up a pitcher of water and wraps some ice in a small towel, and goes back to bed with her sketchpad and pencils.

It’s a hobby she gets to indulge in rarely, with how busy things still are. Despite having lived at their new settlement for over a year, there’s always more to do, more decisions to make and more challenges to face, and while she and Bellamy have both stepped back from any formal political roles, they’re both people others turn to for help. It’s nice, now that the decisions they make aren’t so demanding, but it still takes up a lot of her time.

She finds herself sketching Bellamy’s face, as she normally does. Even if she wasn’t in love with him he’d be an amazing subject to draw, sharp angles and deep eyes and a pattern of freckles on his face she’ll never perfect.

She’s abandoned the task by midday in favour of rubbing ice along her skin. Even with blinds covering all the windows, shading her from the burning sun, the heat is intrusive. Plus, the baby’s decided that now is the perfect time to play gymnastics in her belly, which means that everything is coming together in a perfect combination to make Clarke hot and uncomfortable.

That’s how Bellamy finds her only half an hour later. Clarke’s eyes are closed, but she hears him step into their room, pause as he no doubt watches her with fond eyes.

“How are my two girls?” He asks, soft.

Clarke leans up on her elbows to look at him. He’s flushed and sweaty and dishevelled, and she has to rein in the way it makes her blood pulse hot with want beneath her skin. Watching him strip down to his briefs doesn’t help either, but the way his shoulders sag does. She can see how exhausted he is from a morning’s work under the hot sun.

“We’re okay,” she says, holding up her glass of water for him to take. He downs it greedily before sending her a grateful smile.

“That’s good. I have a surprise for you.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “You do? What is it?”

Bellamy laughs, dropping a kiss to her lips. “You do know what surprise means, right?”

Clarke hits him lightly, only prompting him to laugh some more. “Shut up.”

“Just let me wash up and get some food first, and then I’ll show you.”

“Okay,” she agrees slowly, watching him suspiciously as he shoots her another grin and heads back to the main room.

He returns a few minutes later, face clean and fresh, with a plate of food for them to share. It’s simple, just some bread and meat and fruit, but it looks like heaven right about now. And then, tucked under his other arm, is what Clarke’s guessing is his surprise.

She can’t make out what it is, not until Bellamy hands over the food and presents it to her fully. And then Clarke’s jaw is dropping and she’s scrambling to sit upright.

“Is that a fan?” She asks, voice both disbelieving and hopeful.

Bellamy chuckles, eyes crinkling fondly around the edges. “It’s a fan,” he confirms, laughing when she gasps loudly. “I asked Raven to make one for you when the heat wave started. She’s pretty busy at the moment, so had to work on it in her spare time, but yeah, it’s a portable, battery-run fan.”

“Oh, Bell,” Clarke says, shaking her head in awe. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Bellamy responds, smiling down at her softly. “But this past month has been hard on you, and I wanted to do something nice.” He frowns, considering, then amends his words. “Or enlist Raven to do something nice.”

“Thank you,” she says, pulling him down for another long kiss, letting him know just how much the gesture means to her.

He sets it up on top of a chair at the end of their bed when they part, explaining the different settings to her as he switches it on. The first wave of cool air hitting her makes Clarke sigh, sagging back against the pile of pillows behind her.

Fans were one of the many things put on the non-essential list when they had to trek cross country to find a new place to live. They’ve managed reasonably well without them, designing their buildings and cabins strategically and using trees to provide them with shade, but it’s still hard. Their previous summer wasn’t nearly as hot, and Clarke wasn’t eight and a half months pregnant, so even on the warmer days, she could easily walk down to the river to cool off. Now, it’s quite a bit more effort.

So she’s incredibly grateful for this surprise, for Bellamy’s thoughtfulness and for Raven’s genius. Her belly still isn’t the most comfortable thing, but having some relief from the heat makes her feel so much better already.

Bellamy joins her in bed, letting out the same sigh of content Clarke just did, and without it being so hot she lets herself snuggle into his side. They nibble on their food and talk about their mornings and enjoy the cool breeze the fan provides, and soon Clarke’s pushing closer to Bellamy, manoeuvring them both until she’s sitting in the cradle of his legs, back against his chest.

And she’s missed this, just the simple feeling of their skin touching, the way it calms her and excites her and makes her feel at peace. She’s missed so much that she hasn’t been able to pull Bellamy in for a long, warm hug, and that he hasn’t been holding her securely at night, and that neither of them have been letting their kisses get carried away into anything more. This stupid weather has made her _miss him,_ despite having seen him each and every day of it.

“This is nice,” Clarke sighs, letting her head roll to the side to rest on Bellamy’s shoulder. He’s got one arm wrapped around her, on top of her belly, while the other runs along it, just saying hello to their baby. “I’ve missed being able to touch you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She leans up, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “And I’ve missed having you cuddle me.”

Bellamy pulls her in tighter at that, dropping his face to nuzzle into her neck. She can feel the pressure of his lips, the familiar weight of them on her skin, and she closes her eyes, lets her hands find each of his to lay on top of them, wanting to be close at every point.

They stay like that for a long while, Clarke settling into Bellamy’s body comfortably, sleepy and happy and in love. He begins a story, maybe for the baby and maybe for her, and she feels her eyes get heavy and her mind slow, drifting off.

And then, just before she’s out completely, something twinges tight at the base of her stomach and she sits up, alarmed, before registering what it was. A contraction.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from @eskimo-whispers, who asked for Clarke getting flustered over Bellamy's freckles

In retrospect, Clarke probably should’ve realised what was going on.

She’s in her third year of med school, after all, and usually has at least a basic level of common sense in her.

As it is, apparently Bellamy Blake makes her a bit of an idiot. And Bellamy Blake half naked? Well, Clarke’s not sure anyone can _truly_ blame her for her brain short-circuiting and subsequently shutting down at the sight.

“You’re staring,” Raven comments easily, as he pulls off his top, leaving him in nothing but his swimming shorts.

And okay, Clarke at least has enough brain power to recognise that _yes_ , she is staring, and it’d probably be a good idea to, you know — _stop._ But honestly, she’s not entirely sure how everyone on this goddamn beach isn’t watching him. Because Bellamy taking his top off definitely happened in slow-motion. With his skin glistening and his muscles rippling and his hair remaining perfectly dishevelled. That can’t have just been Clarke. She didn’t just imagine that.

But a quick glance to her friends, all still focused on their own tasks, tells her she _did_ just imagine it. Which is a level above how her brain traditionally deals with her stupid feelings. Usually, she just fantasises about kissing him, or confessing her love, or worst of all, simply snuggling into his side and falling asleep. But this is some weird movie set shit her brain is delving into.

Which is probably the first sign that Clarke ignores.

“Shut up,” she mutters to Raven, spinning on her feet so she’s no longer facing Bellamy. He has a lot of nerve, being as beautiful as he is.

“I’m just saying,” Raven muses, ignoring Clarke’s response as she pulls out her towel and lays it down on the sand. “It’s likely that you’ll die today. Like, you barely keep it together as it is, and now you have to spend all day with him half naked. So, you know, just let me know how nice you want your casket to be.”

“If you think I want to be anything but cremated, you don’t know me very well.”

Raven snorts as Clarke helps lower her down onto her towel. “As someone who works in the medical field, your genuine belief that people can accidentally be buried alive is a weird one.”

“It could _happen,_ ” Clarke says, kicking Raven lightly in the shoulder when she just cackles.

“What could happen?” She hears from behind her, and when Clarke turns around there’s Bellamy, smile wide and eyes dazzling and freckles standing out so clearly against his warm golden skin. It’s a lot to take in all at once.

“Clarke could die of dehydration from being so thirsty,” Raven supplies unhelpfully, cocking an amused eyebrow when Clarke shoots her a dirty look.

“What?” Bellamy asks, frowning in confusion.

“Ignore her,” Clarke says, thankful that internet lingo isn’t really a strong point of his. “She’s being an asshole.”

“No surprise there.”

“You love me, Blake.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bellamy mutters with a small quirk of his lips. And then he looks back at Clarke, smile widening into a bright grin, and her brain kind of short-circuits again. “Want me to do your back?”

And, yeah, that certainly doesn’t help. Clarke blinks once, unable to get anything out but, “What?”

“Your back,” he repeats slowly, amused. When she just stares at him, probably resembling a deer in headlights, he continues, cocking an eyebrow. “You burn pretty quickly, princess. You really should put on sunscreen.”

“Oh right,” Clarke breathes out, shaking her head. She feels very warm suddenly, and it’s messing with her head. When Bellamy just keeps watching her with that amused expression of his, she realises she hasn’t actually answered him, and quickly amends. “Yeah, um. Thanks. That’d be, um — good,” she finishes lamely.

Bellamy chuckles, sending her a funny look as she grabs her bottle of sunscreen and passes it to him. And then she’s tugging off her top and turning around, and Bellamy’s hands are on her, and it’s like the universe is trying to punish her for some past life atrocity. Because his hands are large and rough and perfect, rubbing deep into her skin, and it’s hard not to imagine this exact same feeling in a very different context.

She feels a flush rise quickly on her chest at the thought, can’t help but sway back into Bellamy’s touch a little, but thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice, continuing with his task easily.

“Okay,” he announces a good minute later, running his hands down her back one last time. “I’m done. Do me?”

“What?” She asks, dazed, and when her brain catches up, “Oh, uh — yeah, of course,” she stutters out, feeling like a fourteen year old with her first crush again.

Of course, having her hands on Bellamy doesn’t help much, not with the way she feels the warmth of his skin and the tautness of his muscles, or the fact that she zones in on the freckles running down his back, all the way to the bottom of his scapulae before they pepper out.

It’s like the sun kissed each individual one onto his skin _just_ to torture Clarke. She fucking loves his freckles.

And yes, she sees his freckles _all the time,_ but for some reason they’re particularly mesmerising today, tugging on Clarke’s mind until it unravels a little. She feels herself rock backwards without really meaning to, stumbling in her stance, and has to brace herself using Bellamy’s shoulders.

Which is definitely the second sign, and once again, one she ignores.

It doesn’t get any better after that.

The water is lovely, of course, and the weather just as much, with the sun high and bright in the sky. And Clarke loves hanging out with her friends, enjoys swimming around with them and attempting to body surf, even finds herself joining in on the seaweed fight that breaks out when Miller cops some in the face curtesy of Jasper.

But she doesn’t feel completely right, skin hot and tight and mind muddled enough that she misses when people try to talk to her a few times. Her eyes keep getting caught on Bellamy’s form, from the curls stuck to his forehead to the golden brown of his chest, and when it gets bad enough that she feels slightly faint, she decides it’s time to get back onto solid ground.

“You okay?” Raven asks, when she joins her back on the beach, flopping down heavily on her towel. She still feels all hot and flustered, and apparently looks it too, if Raven’s concerned tone is anything to go by. “You don’t look good, babe. You need some water?”

And yeah, it’s kind of embarrassing that even that sign, spelt out right there in front of her, practically flashing to get her attention, isn’t enough for Clarke to realise something’s up.

Something other than the ridiculous explanation she’s come up with for feeling so out of it.

“I’m fine,” she mutters, beginning to fan her face with her hands. She just feels so _dazed,_ and it’s absolutely absurd that seeing Bellamy like he is today is affecting her so much. It’s honestly normally not this bad. “I just — I don’t understand how he looks this good,” she explains, knowing Raven will catch on to her complaints quickly. “It’s like… it’s like he’s specifically trying to torture me.”

Raven laughs, sending Clarke a sly grin. “He’s probably just trying to look irresistible enough that you finally make a move.”

Clarke groans, letting her head drop back even as she shakes it in denial. “You’re delusional,” she sighs, eyes falling shut. They feel heavy, probably because they’ve had to look at something so beautiful for over an hour, which is totally a logical explanation.

“Yeah, I’m the delusional one,” Raven mutters lowly, and Clarke throws an arm out in an attempt to hit her, only to feel sand beneath her skin instead. “Okay, seriously, you’re acting even weirder than usual,” Raven says, voice etching on concerned. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Clarke responds, stressing her point by waving her arms out wildly. She can practically _feel_ Raven’s disbelief in the silence that follows, and sighs loudly. “Okay,” she eventually continues, words slurring slightly. “This is what it is. He’s a beautiful, freckled man, and my body can no longer handle it, probably because it knows my love is unrequited and I’m going to die alone, and therefore wants to punish me.”

“Uh huh,” Raven responds after a very long beat, voice slightly strangled. Then, “Babe?”

“Hm?”

“You, um, might want to look up.”

“Why?” Clarke huffs, opening her eyes to throw Raven a glare for making her do something that requires _effort_ , only to find Bellamy standing right in front of her, eyes wide and mouth parted as he watches her closely. She blinks, feels her face heat up even as her brain sort of decides to shut down. “Oh.”

“I just came to check up on you,” he says, voice inscrutable. His brows pull together and he runs a hand through his hair, and Clarke watches in mute horror as any possible explanation for her words escapes her. “Who were you…”

“What?” she asks, shaking her head quickly as though it could rid her of his question. “No one,” she says, and without much thought at all stumbles up to her feet, just needing to get away.

She makes it one step before the world goes fuzzy around the edges, and all at once a wave of nausea floods her.

“Woah, woah. Clarke,” she hears in Bellamy’s voice, as a pair of strong hands quickly circle her around the arms, keeping her upright even as she feels her whole body waver, losing every ounce of energy.

“Bell,” she breathes out, blinking up slowly to look at him, catching his worried expression and his big, brown eyes.

She sees him say something, his mouth moving as though he’s calling out her name, but his words are lost to the sound of blood rushing past her ears, and the next thing she knows, the galaxy across his face fades until it’s nothing but the dark night sky, and she’s out.

*

Clarke’s fainted once before in her life. It was when she was nine years old, and trying to beat her personal record of thirteen cartwheels in a row.

When she woke up it was to Wells’ worrying, and the first thing she asked him was if she beat her record. She had, getting a fourteenth cartwheel before she apparently stood up, stumbled, and fell back down again, and it was an exciting enough revelation that Clarke viewed the whole experience in a positive light.

This time, the first thing she says when she’s awake and semi-coherent is: “Your freckles.”

It comes out slurred and somehow accusatory, and Bellamy’s brow furrows in confusion as he watches her closely. Her head is in his lap, and his hands are gently stroking her face, and Clarke has enough brain activity to recognise that it feels really, really nice.

And also, that she accidentally confessed her love to Bellamy.

“Okay,” Bellamy says, sweeping her hair from her forehead. “I caught you before you fell, so there’s no way you have a concussion. Want to try that again?”

Clarke shakes her head, struggles to sit up and lets Bellamy help her when she can’t on her own. Her mind is still sluggish, and so she doesn’t stop herself from continuing to talk. Just, you know, to knock in that final nail that is her coffin. Or however it is you prepare an urn.

“Your _freckles,_ ” she says, frowning when Bellamy’s lips pull up into a smile. “They — they made me confused. And flustered. And I couldn’t — I couldn’t think.”

“Okay, I’m only a history teacher and I definitely know that that’s not how things work.” His smile widens when Clarke frowns, and he passes her a bottle of water. She takes it and downs it greedily, not having realised how thirsty she was until the first drop of water hit her lips. She feels worlds better for it, her head clearing of its cloudiness and her body feeling a lot stronger. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“What?” Clarke asks, confused again.

“The last time you ate,” Bellamy repeats, reaching behind her to grab something. Clarke looks over her shoulder to find Raven, somehow both looking concerned and amused, handing Bellamy a banana and a bag of jelly lollies. “Or had any water, for that matter.

“I don’t know,” Clarke mutters, feeling herself flush all at once because _oh my fucking god_ , she is such a fucking idiot. “Last night, I guess.”

Bellamy shakes his head, peeling the banana before handing it over.

“Eat,” he tells her, tone leaving absolutely no room to argue. Not that Clarke _would,_ now that she recognises that her feeling faint was not the result of Bellamy Blake’s freckles like she originally thought, but instead a combination of low blood sugar, mild dehydration and heat exhaustion. You know, the more logical explanation. Seriously, she’s in _med school._ This is beyond embarrassing.

She does eat, finishing the banana quickly before taking a few of the jelly lollies, getting some sugar into her system.

“So, let me get this straight,” Bellamy says after a good minute of just watching her eat. Clarke feels herself blush furiously, and she’s honestly wondering how much of an overreaction it would be to move to the other side of the world tomorrow. But she confessed her love to Bellamy, fainted in his arms, and then told him it was because of his freckles, all in about a three minute time span. The mountains of New Zealand sound pretty damn good right now. “You skip breakfast,” Bellamy begins to list off, pulling Clarke from her spiralling thoughts, “forget to drink any water, go to the beach on a ninety five degree day, and when you feel flustered you think it’s because of me.”

He sounds amused, but something more too. Hopeful, maybe, and it sends a pang of warmth through Clarke’s chest. A good pang, not an I’m-going-to-faint-again pang.

“Have you seen you?” She asks, tentative, and when Bellamy ducks his head in a shy grin she feels herself smile. “It made a lot more sense in my mind.”

Bellamy’s laugh comes out surprised and delighted, and when he looks back up his eyes are shining bright and his smile is as happy as Clarke ever remembers seeing. Again, it’s a lot to take in, but the flutter beneath her skin is a distinctly good kind.

“So if I kiss you right now, because your love in not at all unrequited, is there any chance you’ll faint again?”

“No,” Clarke responds quickly, shaking her head. “I’m in med school; I know these things.”

He’s grinning even as he rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I don’t trust you at all,” he says, but Clarke’s already reaching out to pull him down, guiding his mouth to hers.

His lips are warm and soft, and she sighs against them, slanting her mouth against his to better the angle. She deepens the kiss quickly, lets her tongue trace the seam of his lips until it slides against his, and then Bellamy’s pulling her onto his lap and Clarke’s hands are tangling into his hair, and they’re kissing like they don’t want to be doing anything else in the entire world.

She only pulls away when she starts feeling faint again, but it’s the good kind of breathless this time. The one that comes with being thoroughly kissed.

Plus, Bellamy basically just told her he loved her too, and that thought is enough to send her mind spinning a little.

She probably should eat some more, before they continue making out.

“I kind of died seeing you in this bikini,” Bellamy tells her as he rests his forehead against hers.

Clarke laughs softly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, hands tracing up her sides to reach the band of her bathers top. “But unlike _some_ people, I recognise the importance of eating and staying hydrated, so you probably couldn’t tell.”

Clarke groans, dropping her head onto Bellamy’s shoulder as his body shakes with laughter. “You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”  
  
“Yeah, absolutely not.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” she mutters, moving off of his lap to sit beside him instead. As much as she wishes she could, she can’t exactly keep making out with him on a public beach, in front of strangers. In front of their _friends._

Remembering _that_ little fact, Clarke turns around to find Raven staring back at her, thankfully alone, but looking altogether incredibly unimpressed.

“I can’t believe you literally had to _faint into his arms_ to work out your shit,” she says, and Clarke shrugs even as Bellamy snorts out a laugh at the comment.

Tucking herself into his side and lacing their fingers together, it’s had to find a part of her that cares.

“Whatever works.” 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr prompt from @rashaka, who asked for a hesitant kiss that turns hungry in canonverse. It turned out to be speculative, based on that footage of bellamy walking out into the black rain (WHY?!).

The empty hall of the Ark echoes loudly with the sound of Clarke’s footsteps.

Her boots fall heavily onto the metal floor, energy transferring from the anger and worry simmering beneath her skin into each of her steps as she paces. Forty feet up and forty feet back, close enough that she can get to him quickly when he returns.

 _If_ he returns.

She can’t be certain, not with the way the storm rages on outside, black rain thundering loudly as it falls, uncaring for the damage it causes or the lives it claims. Not when he’s protected only by a worn hazmat suit, one that’s over a hundred years old, torn and patched up with tape.

She can’t be certain, and the thought makes her shudder with a suppressed sob. Images of her father, of Wells and Finn and Lexa and everyone she’s loved and lost, flash across her eyes. People she didn’t have enough time with, that were torn for her life with words of love and sorrow.

She didn’t even get that with Bellamy. Didn’t get to tell him — _something._ Anything.

Because he didn’t tell her what he was doing. Of course he didn’t. He must’ve known she would object, would call him reckless and self-sacrificing and rage and rage until he agreed to stay inside with their people. Not go out and get himself killed, to search the surrounding area for people left behind in the hast to retreat to the Ark’s safety.

No, Bellamy didn’t tell her; that task was left to Kane.

She had sprinted to the south-east exit the man told her Bellamy had used as soon as he uttered the words, but it was no use. Bellamy was gone, claimed by the dark rain and darker night, and now she doesn’t know if she’ll ever see him again. Not the way she wants to, with his warm golden skin and his wry smile, eyes bright and blazing and hair a mess of inky curls.

Clarke shakes her head, trying to rid the images of him, playing in her mind like a montage of the dead.

She’s going to see him again, she thinks, determined, even if she has to steal him from Death’s tight grasp herself.

It’s a dozen more minutes spent exactly like that, pacing and pacing and pushing away the thought of Bellamy’s laughter, the last time she heard it, before she hears the sound of another pair of footsteps close by.

Clarke turns and rushes to the door without a second thought, watches as Bellamy walks into the Ark with heavy steps and defeated shoulders, the dark liquid coating his suit the only thing keeping her from flinging herself into his arms.

He catches her gaze quickly, and it pauses him in his strides, surprised.

“Bellamy,” she breathes out, his name raw as it falls from her lips.

She recognises the apology in his eyes when he looks at her, but there’s something beneath it too. A hardness she knows is resolve. He’s sorry he didn’t tell her, but he would’ve done it anyway, with or without her support.

She knows it’s his way of making amends, these things that he does. Using his body like it’s all he can give to make things right, as if his life isn’t worth so much more. Using it like he’s a soldier, cannon fodder in a war they didn’t ask for and cannot win, and not a person. A person that she needs and trusts and loves and can’t bear to lose. Not after everything.

Clarke turns around, blinking back the tears that quickly build behind her eyes, pushing down the emotions that swell in her chest. She can hear Bellamy follow her to the containment room, and without a word she helps him out of the suit like Raven taught her, careful and precise.

She doesn’t ask what he found outside, not with the shadows cast in his eyes. There will be bodies to clear tomorrow, and the fact that he wasn’t able to save any more people will fall heavily on his shoulders.

It’s not his fault, but he won’t see it that way. Always taking responsibility for things that aren’t his to bear.

She stays with him as he showers, and follows him back to their people once he’s redressed. They’re separated for about an hour then, Bellamy discussing what’s happened with Kane in a hushed voice and Clarke helping her mum and Jackson in medical. But eventually there’s nothing more they can do, and so she follows him once more, this time to his room.

It’s only once they’re there, and Bellamy’s closing the door firmly behind him, that Clarke speaks.

“You can’t keep doing this, Bellamy,” she says, hating the way her voice cracks on his name. But she could’ve lost him tonight, and despite the fact that he’s standing in front of her right now, alive and safe, her relief is outweighed by an immense grief that he doesn’t seem to understand how much that would break her.

“Someone needed to go out there, Clarke,” Bellamy responds. Not defensive, just an explanation. “Not everyone made it inside when the storm hit.”

“I know,” she says, eyes falling closed with the weight of his words. “But you can’t keep going on these suicide missions. It’s not — it’s not worth it.”

“I made it back alive, didn’t I?” He jokes weakly. When Clarke only shakes her head sadly he steps forward, reaching out to cradle her jaw, thumb stroking the curve of her cheek. She leans into his touch, feels the way it wavers just slightly.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispers, echoing words confessed so long ago. They were true then, even if she sent him away, told him his life was expendable, only hours later. They were true then and they’re true now, and she can only hope that he believes her this time.

He doesn’t respond, but the way he’s looking at her makes Clarke feel open and raw, and it’s something there in his eyes, this disbelief and pain, that prompts her to move.

Slow enough that he can pull away if he wants, Clarke steps forward until she’s standing right in front of him, close enough that his breath fans across her forehead and cheeks. She reaches up, hand cupping his cheek, gaze flicking between his lips and his eyes, unsure of herself until he leans into her touch and his eyes flutter close. Then she stretches up onto her toes to brush her mouth against his, soft and a little hesitant.

It’s the barest of kisses, just a light press of their lips for a lingering moment before she pulls away to lean her forehead against his, needing some reassurance that she’s not doing the wrong thing.

It comes when tilts his head after a few long moments, catching her lips with a bit more pressure and bringing up his hands to cradle her face.

And then it’s like a dam breaks, and Clarke finds herself tugging at his shirt to pull him closer, sweeping the seam of his lips with her tongue so she can deepen the kiss. Bellamy moans with it, tilting her head to better the angle as he licks into her mouth, letting the kiss turn hungry and desperate as he backs her up against his door.

Clarke just tries to get him closer, hands crawling up his chest and around his shoulders, carding into his hair as she pours everything she has into the kiss. Her worry and her anger and the burning passion that ignites under her skin whenever Bellamy’s close. The fear that she lost him and the relief that she didn’t. The ache deep in her chest because still, _still,_ she’s not sure he understands how important he is.

Too soon she has to pull away to suck in some much needed air, and when Bellamy meets her gaze his eyes are blown wide with lust but still tinged with uncertainty and disbelief. She leans up to press another soft, lingering kiss to his lips, hopes it reassures him of her sincerity.

“Okay,” he says finally, when they’re both watching the other earnestly, only a breath of space between them, and she’s not sure if it’s a response to her earlier statement or the only word he can come up with after what they’ve just done, but either way it makes her smile.

“Okay,” Clarke repeats, and somehow, despite everything that’s happening, right now, with Bellamy close and looking at her the way he is, it feels like things will be.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a tumblr prompt: bellamy & clarke work at a home for at-risk teens and they bond over the ridiculous hijinks madi pulls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I haven't posted something in forever so this is cool even tho it's so short !
> 
> Also I'm trying to post it on mobile, so let's see how that goes.........

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” Clarke says with a small huff, trying one last-ditch effort at shouldering the door open.

She’s not really sure why _she’s_ the one doing it, when Bellamy’s generally a lot — broader than she is. He could probably break them out if he was really putting in the effort, but he gave up after about a minute, and has now resigned himself to being locked in the small cleaning closet with her.

“At least she waited until our shift was over,” he says, and Clarke throws him a dirty look over her shoulder. He laughs in response. “Seriously, if this was a few months ago, she would’ve done it while we were in the middle of an activity. At least now we know all the kids are being properly supervised. This is progress, Clarke,” he adds, smile turning wry, and it’s Clarke’s turn to laugh this time. He’s not exactly wrong.

“Okay, point,” Clarke allows, finally letting herself give up on her futile attempts to get them out. Instead, she leans back on the door, slides down until she’s sitting next to Bellamy, their arms brushing as she settles in. It sends a rush of tingling excitement through her, which is honestly just fucking ridiculous. She should not be this excited over _sitting_ next to Bellamy Blake, but her stupid crush apparently cannot be reasoned with. “Her ideas of pranks have definitely become more appropriate since she started. I bet she wouldn’t even instigate a food fight anymore.”

Bellamy chuckles, bumping his shoulder against hers, and Clarke ducks her head on a smile.

It had been Madi’s second week at the home when she managed to start a food fight during dinner, a mostly innocent but very misguided attempt to push boundaries, but Bellamy’s right; she’s come a long way since those first few weeks. Probably because both of them have been on her case a lot, starting with that very night, when they had her clean up the dining room, apologise to the kids who had cooked dinner, and confiscated her phone for the remainder of the evening.

She was never a bad kid, just lacked the healthy boundaries that should be in place for anyone her age, but they’ve learnt what works for her, and Clarke knows that Bellamy’s developed as strong a bond with the girl as she has herself. After seven months with them, Madi knows her place in the house, and has become a happier, healthier, and as much as she hates to admit it, more responsible young adult during the time. She’s the kind of person that makes all the hard days working with at-risk teens worth it.

But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still love to play pranks.

They range in complexity – changing phone settings so that a simple text message spews out a quote from _Wonder Woman_ , to covering an entire room, furniture, walls, ceilings and all, with post-it notes – and messiness – adding pink food dye to the carton of milk in the fridge, to experimenting with disastrous mixes of honey, shaving cream and sprinkles – but her targets are usually the same: one Clarke Griffin and Bellamy Blake.

She really just loves to mess with them, honestly.

But at least this time, Clarke thinks she knows the motivation.

“Probably not,” Bellamy agrees, sending her an amused grin, which is a _lot_ when he’s so close. It’s hard not to be when they’re in a tiny closet together, which — motivation, see? “And at least she’s not subjecting me to the painful process of trying to wash glitter out of my hair.”

“I’m pretty sure I was the one who got that out for you,” Clarke reminds him, reaching up to tug at one of his curls gently.

“Okay, I might be exaggerating the painfulness of the process,” Bellamy says, smile softening as his eyes do the same. “Just a little.”

Clarke feels her breath catch, a result of both the proximity and the way he’s looking at her, like she’s the fucking _world,_ and before she can really help herself, her eyes fall to his lips. When she looks up to him again, his eyes are bright and he’s bringing a hand up to cup her face, thumb stroking her cheek softly as he leans in, slow, as if to give her a chance to pull away.

Like there’s any fucking universe in which she wouldn’t want to kiss Bellamy Blake.

The first touch of his lips is soft, tentative, but it doesn’t last long. All it takes is Clarke sighing into his mouth, letting her fingers card into his hair like she always wants to, and then he’s pulling her into his lap, kissing her slow and warm and deep and fucking _perfect,_ more than she’s ever let herself truely want.

They’re able to trade soft kisses, smiling into each other’s mouths, giggling like they’re teenagers themselves, for a few minutes before the closet door swings open and they break away to look for the intrusion, Madi unsurprisingly standing in the doorway.

“Fucking _finally,”_ she says, a smug grin already spreading across her face, and Clarke laughs, hiding her grin into Bellamy’s shoulder as he presses a final kiss to her hair.

She can’t even manage to tell the girl off for swearing. She’s earned this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope u enjoyed!!!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For [isla](http://blueshirtbell.tumblr.com/), who prompted “I accidentally drunk called you thinking you were my ex that I hate”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been 84 years

“I fucking hate Finn.”

Raven chokes on her drink, the bubble of laughter coming quick and loud, and Clarke’s smile widens into a full grin. It’s always the best watching Raven get sloppy drunk; it doesn’t happen nearly often enough.

“Oh god, he’s the  _worst,_ ” Raven says, holding her glass up as though they’re toasting to Finn’s suckiness. “I can’t believe we  _both_  dated him. Seriously, that was the luckiest shit of his life. We’re fucking awesome.”

“Totally awesome,” Clarke agrees with a laugh. “One hundred and ten fucking percent awesome.”

“And Finn’s the worst.”

“The  _worst._ ”

Clarke takes a swig of her drink, enjoying the warmth it spreads through her chest, the way it makes her mind a little fuzzy and her body all relaxed. It’s been a stressful week, and tonight’s plans of buying booze and getting drunk have been much needed.

She rests her head on Raven’s shoulder, snuggling up into her as she thinks about it for a moment.

“Okay, but at least we became friends because of it,” she allows, a grudging point to Finn that she hates to give. “Like, it definitely would’ve been better if we had’ve hooked up and — fallen in love, or whatever. That would’ve been the  _most_  poetic way for things to turn out.”

Raven snorts, pressing a sloppy kiss to Clarke’s head. “But I slept with Bellamy instead of you.”

“Yeah,” Clarke sighs, ignoring the way just the sound of his name makes her whole body light up. She tries to push it from her mind, but apparently once it’s there, it’s there, because memories flood her all at once.

Walking home from the bar together last weekend, tipsy and affectionate, Bellamy’s arm low around her waist as she ran her fingers through his hair. The way he caught her hand on the elevator up to his apartment, thumb rubbing absently over her knuckles as her heart began to race in her chest. The first kiss, hesitant at first, shifting to warm and loving and then to hungry and desperate, the kind that had them stumbling into his bedroom as fast as they could. Stripping his clothes off, and the warm weight of his hands as he then pulled off her own. Falling into bed together, his mouth hot on her neck, her fingers digging into the muscles of his back. The perfect weight of him on top of her, his forehead resting against her own, the way he lined himself up and —

She drains the last of her drink and shakes her head, as though she could shake the bad decision away with it.

She will admit, sleeping with her best friend, the guy she’s in love with, was definitely not the smartest thing she’s ever done. It may be tied with sneaking out of his room the next morning, while he was still sleeping, but the panic that came with realising what she’d done was enough that she couldn’t stay.

She couldn’t bear to hear him let her down easy, tell her it was just a one time thing.

So she left without saying anything, and she hasn’t heard a word from him since.

Hence the drinking with Raven.

“Anyway,” she says, trying to refocus on their conversation. How they’re better than Finn, right. “Best friends and roommates is probably the next tier down in good outcomes. We’ve done good. We definitely came out ahead.”

“There was no real question that we would, though,” Raven says, a smile in her voice. And then she sits up in a rush, turning to Clarke with a fucking  _huge_  grin. “Oh my god, we should  _prank call_  him.”

Clarke laughs, throwing her head back with it, the idea so ridiculous that it doesn’t even sound  _bad_. Just stupid and funny and exactly the kind of thing she wants to do whilst drunk and pretending not to be stressed about this whole Bellamy thing.

“Yes, we should totally call Finn right now,” she agrees between giggles, ignoring the way her words are slightly slurred even to her own ears. Instead, she fumbles for her phone, eyes lighting up as she unlocks it. “I wonder how pissed he’ll be.”

Raven snorts. “Yeah, that’s likely. The real issue would be that he’d pick up and be like, oh my god, you want to get back together?”

“Stop, stop,” Clarke says, shaking her head as she tries to get her laughter under control. “I think I’d throw my phone straight out the window.”

She has to squint to focus on her phone, navigating to her contacts slowly to try to find Finn’s number. She’s honestly not sure why she still has it, but at least it’s coming in handy right now. She presses call, places the phone on speaker between them, and giggles when the wave of excitement rushes through her on the first ring.

“Shh, shh,” she hushes Raven, slapping at her arm even though she’s not talking. “It’s ringing.”

“No shit, dickhead,” Raven whispers, and Clarke fights another laugh, feeling giddy with anticipation.

It rings through three times before Finn picks up, and her excitement runs cold in less than a second, when he answers with  _princess._  Because how fucking  _dare_  he do that.

“Princess?” She asks, her face screwing up in annoyance as her whole body prickles with indignation instantly. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re answering with  _princess?_  Like, what, you think you can just call me that after three years? After you used me to cheat on your girlfriend?” She scoffs, shooting Raven an annoyed look.

But Raven isn’t looking outraged like she should be. Instead, she looks confused, eyes moving to the phone and then back to Clarke. “Clarke—” She says after a moment, face clearing into realisation, but Clarke doesn’t let her finish, barrelling onwards in her anger.

“And, and, just so you know, I only like it when Bellamy calls me princess, so you can stop right the fuck now. Calling me princess, I mean,” she says. “And, also, also, you know how you were always jealous of Bellamy?” She continues, the alcohol making her tongue loose, the words she’s been holding in this past week bubbling up all too easily. “Well, guess what, Finnegan? He also called me princess in bed last week!”

“You and Bellamy fucked?” Raven screeches, slapping at Clarke’s arm, and there’s the outrage that was missing earlier. She kind of forgot Raven would be pissed that she didn’t share the news that she and Bellamy slept together.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you,” Clarke says, feigning innocence, but her friend can definitely see through her, and she crumbles without any further questioning. “Okay, so I didn’t  _forget_  forget,” she says, ignoring the phone still between them. “I just, like, forgot in the way that I didn’t want to tell you.”

“That’s not the fucking definition of forgetting!”

“Shh,” she hushes, running a hand over her face. “Fine, you’re — whatever, you’re right. Just because I knew you’d make me tell you I like Bellamy if I told you I slept with him. Or that I — love him, whatever, you know. Okay, I forgot what I was saying. I think I’m a bit drunk? Anyway, yeah, Finn.” She refocuses, ignoring Raven in favour of continuing her rant to Finn. “So, yeah, don’t call me princess ever again. It doesn’t sound good coming from you, not like it does when Bellamy says it. And also, just so you know, remember when you said guys hate going down on girls? Well, that’s just — not true. At all. Because Bellamy went down on me for  _ages,_  and it was  _really_  fucking good. Like, the best. So. Yeah. Just letting you know you were a shitty boyfriend. Cheating and lack of cunnilingus were the main reasons. Anyway,” she looks back to Raven, finding her friend with a hand over her mouth, trying to smother her laughter. “Anything to add, Rave?”

“Yeah, no, I’m not getting involved in this.”

“Awesome. Well, I guess, there you have it, Finn. And you can go suck it, or whatever. Bye.”

Raven throws her head back the moment she hangs up the phone, laughing so hard Clarke’s genuinely a little worried she might fall off the couch, but then again, that might just be the alcohol. It  _was_  a good rant, though; if she ever runs into Finn again, he’ll definitely think twice about calling her princess.

She shakes out her arms, feeling all amped up from the call. She could probably go on a run right now, with how much energy she suddenly has. Maybe drunk exercising is the way to go from now on. She’d get so fucking fit.

“Rave, Rave, how hard is it to get onto Shark Tank?”

“ _What?_ ”

“Like, the show Shark Tank, for good ideas? I think I just came up with one.”

“Oh, god, babe. Whatever it is, it’s not as good as you think. Seriously, just — can I say one thing?”

Clarke frowns, out of both mild offence and mild confusion. “Well you haven’t even  _heard_ the idea, but okay.”

Raven tamps down her laughter enough to speak. “That wasn’t Finn.”

Clarke screws her nose up. “Yes it was? I’m very certain it was. Like, one thousand percent. He called me  _princess_ , remember?”

“You literally just went on a rant about the  _other_  person who calls you princess!”

Clarke throws her hands up in the air; Raven’s being ridiculous. “So, what, you’re saying that was  _Bellamy_?”

“ _Yes._ ”

The world sort of comes to a stop at that, this muted moment where Clarke just blinks at Raven as she feels everything inside of her drop, this sinking feeling she can’t totally appreciate, not when she’s drunk. But fuck, she can still recognise it’s  _bad_.

“It was not,” she says, fumbling to pick up her phone, go to her recent calls.

But there it is, clear as fucking day:

_Bellamy Blake._

Not  _Fuckboy Collins_ , as Finn’s name now is, the one she  _meant_  to press, just one contact down, under  _C_ instead of  _B_.

“Oh fuck,” she breathes, her heart beginning to quicken as the reality of the situation becomes apparent. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh  _fuck._ ”

Bellamy’s face appears on her screen a moment later, a cute selfie of the two of them from his birthday last year, and she throws her phone across the room with a yelp, not knowing what else to do.

“I accidentally told Bellamy how good he is at eating girls out,” she says to Raven, staring up at her with wide eyes. She feels both hot and cold, like her body doesn’t know how to handle the revelation, the panic that should’ve come earlier finally setting in. “Oh, god, I think I told Bellamy that I  _loved_  him.”

“Yeah, you definitely did. It was great.”

“Not helping,” Clarke says, voice coming out as a waver as she begins to fan herself with her hands. “Okay, we’re just going to pretend this never happened, and tomorrow I can look up one-way flights to New Zealand, and we can start a new life together being sheep-herders, and—”

The ringtone stops before she can finish outlining the rest of her plan, the buzzer to their apartment going only a second later, and Clarke freezes. Raven, however, regretfully doesn’t, and she’s up and pressing down the intercom before Clarke can even tell her not to.

“Hey, Bellamy,” Raven says cheerfully, and Clarke’s mouth falls open as she begins shaking her head at her friend. But Raven simply smiles, unperturbed.

“Raven,” Bellamy’s voice comes through, relieved. “Fuck, Clarke’s with you, right? And — she’s okay?”

“Oh, yeah, she’s here. A bit drunk, but mostly fine.” A pause, then her smile shifts to a sly grin. “You came all the way down to check on her, huh?”

He clears his throat. “It’s only a block,” he says. “Look, can I come up? I’d feel better if I could see that you’re both — okay.”

“Such a mother hen. Buzzing you up now!” She turns back to Clarke with a bright grin. “Okay, I’m heading to bed.”

“I’m going to murder you in your sleep.”

“Then who’s going to herd sheep with you?” Raven’s smile softens, and it somehow makes Clarke feel worse. “You’ll feel better once you talk to him. And I promise you, babe, he’s head over heals for you. No doubt in my mind.”

“I’d feel a lot better about what you were saying if you weren’t slurring while you were saying it.”

“Tomorrow I’m going to draw you a graph of like, how sure I am of this, and how many drinks I’ve had. And it’s just going to be a horizontal line at infinity, because my level of intoxication has zero relation to how much Bellamy’s into you.”

“I don’t even know what you’re saying right now,” Clarke says, pulling her knees to her chest. “And I’m still going to murder—”

Her words die in her mouth when there’s a knock on the door. She tries one last attempt at shaking her head at Raven, but her friend only rolls her eyes, ignores the plea in favour of going to answer it.

Clarke cuddles up further into the corner of the couch as her heart begins to race, pulling her legs tighter to her chest. It’s only a moment later that Raven’s back, Bellamy standing right behind her. Only a few feet away from her, the first time she’s seen him since they slept together.

And  _fuck_  he looks good, bundled up in a winter jacket over what’s definitely his pyjamas. His hair is a mess, soft curls long and wild, just how she likes, and his glasses sit a little crooked on the bridge of his nose. And his eyes, holy fuck they’re gorgeous, deep brown and staring at her hard, something in them she can’t name, and his lips look so goddamn good she really just wants to jump up from the couch and kiss him again, and  _god,_  she can’t believe she’s fucked this up so hard.

“Bellamy, I’m going to have four glasses of water before I go to bed,” Raven says, interrupting Clarke from her spiral. “And I’ll leave another one on my bedside table, along with some aspirin.” Bellamy rolls his eyes at her, but she only grins brightly. “Okay, goodnight!”

“Night,” he says, chuckling a little before he turns his attention back to Clarke. His lips twitch a little, like he’s fighting a smile, and it makes her heart beat harder, somehow. “Can I sit?” He asks after a minute, and all she can manage is a nod. He comes around and settles on the other end of the couch, giving her space she doesn’t really want. “So, you’ve had a bit to drink, haven’t you?” He says after just studying her for a long moment, the words almost fond, teasing, and Clarke lets out a shaky breath.

“Just a bit,” she says, ducking her head as she swallows past the lump in her throat.

“Enough that you don’t even know who you’re calling when you’re calling them,” he points out, and that’s definitely teasing. She looks back up to find him smiling at her, soft and warm and with so much kindness it makes her chest  _ache_. He’s giving her an out, and it’s such a Bellamy thing to do she almost wants to cry.

Because even in her state she can recognise the hint of uncertainty in his expression, and she knows that she’s the reason it’s there.

So she takes another breath, finds it’s not so shaky this time.

“Not enough that I was lying about anything, though,” she says softly, smile small but genuine.

Bellamy’s eyes flutter, in that familiar way of his, when he hears something he’s not expecting, something that catches him off guard. He clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair, making it go even wilder than it was before. “Okay,” he says, voice rough. He’s not really looking at her, but she’s not worried, somehow. “I’m going to make you a grilled cheese sandwich, and watch you drink at least four glasses of water.”

Clarke laughs, and his eyes find hers instantly. “You’re going to cook for me?”

“You’ll thank me for it in the morning.” He stands up before offering her a hand, and she lets herself take it, lets him tug her up from the couch. “Come on. Kitchen.”

She sits at the counter as he gets her a glass of water, filling it to the brim before handing it to her. And then he switches on the grill, pulls out some bread, cheese and butter, and gets started on making what he knows is her favourite food whilst drunk.

They don’t talk as he moves around in the kitchen, just exchange quick glances and small smiles as Bellamy refills her glass a few times, but somehow it’s not awkward. She always enjoys his company, and even with the weight of what’s happened between them, she still appreciates his presence, the way he puts her at ease, despite everything. It’s only when he’s pulling her sandwich from the oven that he speaks up.

“I’m going to ask you tomorrow,” he says, eyes set on cutting the sandwich in half, putting it on a plate. “Whether you meant what you said. Just a heads up.”

“You don’t believe me?”

His eyes flick to hers, and she sees how his smile turns wry. “I believe  _you_  believe what you said, but — I need to be sure.” He slides the plate over to her. “And I’m not going to hold you to anything you say in your state.”

Clarke can’t help but laugh, ducking her head with it. “Okay,” she says, knowing she won’t be able to convince him tonight. She’s definitely not feeling as drunk as she was before, but it doesn’t surprise her that he wants to wait. “I understand. But — I’m sure, Bell. I promise. My drunken confessions are always genuine.”

He chuckles, and he finally looks at her properly. “You make a lot of drunken confessions?”

She smiles. “Only when I’m trying not to think about how I screwed up my relationship with the guy I’m in love with.”

His expression softens completely, and she watches his throat work as he swallows, heavy. “You didn’t screw it up,” he says, voice low and impossibly warm, but he doesn’t give her a chance to respond before he adds, “Now, come on. Eat up.”

She wants to press the point, but she doesn’t. Instead she does as he asks, taking the first bite of her grilled cheese sandwich. It’s as good as it always is when Bellamy makes it, and she hums happily as she eats it, smiling around a mouthful when Bellamy just watches her fondly.

“You really are good at going down on girls,” she says after a minute, enjoying the way he barks out a surprised laugh. She finishes the last of her sandwich and grins. “Just — I wasn’t lying about any of it. But especially not your cunnilingus skills.”

“I’m impressed you can say cunnilingus so well when you’re drunk.”

“It’s a talent,” she agrees, getting another laugh from him. “But, cunnilingus. You can ask me about that tomorrow as well, if you want.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says with a wry smile, but it softens quickly, and she sees the way he hesitates before leaning over the counter a little. Enough that he can take her hand, thumb running over her knuckles, just like he did last week in the elevator, lighting her whole body up with just a single touch. “You’ll tell me tomorrow?” He asks, and she knows she’s not imagining the slight uncertainty in his tone.

So she takes his hand in her own, pulls it up so she can press a kiss to his palm, and when he smiles, she returns it.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” she promises.

And she does.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For tiny-ging on tumblr, Bellamy teaches Clarke how to drive the rover and things get smutty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked tumblr for smutty prompts and tumblr provided
> 
> My next few chapters will be various scenarios I will turn into smut
> 
> If you're feeling for a smutty prompt hmu on tumblr at bisexualbellamyblake and i'll eventually get to it

“You need to relax.”

Clarke huffs, pushing down the annoyance that flares at Bellamy’s words, and reminds herself that he’s trying to help. Just because she sucks at this doesn’t mean it’s his fault. Sure, he could be enjoying it a little less, but Clarke knows she’d also be a teasing asshole if the roles were reversed.

“Helpful,” she says, shooting him a sideways glare, one that he just grins at. She has to tell herself not to get distracted in the way it brightens his whole face, his eyes crinkling and his mouth tugging up just a little higher on one side.

Clearing her throat, she goes to start the rover again, pushing down the clutch to put it into first gear and releasing it as her other foot presses onto the accelerator — only for the whole damn thing to stall.

“Fuck!” She yells, slapping at the steering wheel as Bellamy barks out a laugh.

“You need to _relax_ ,” he says again, his amusement clear in his voice, and this time she looks at him properly, working her jaw in frustration.

“Any suggestions?” She asks, and his smirk shifts into something different, something sly and maybe a little dark.

“Maybe one or two,” he says, voice just a touch rougher than it was earlier, and Clarke feels the air shift around them at once, something coming alight between them.

She catches her bottom lip between her teeth, watches how Bellamy’s gaze drops with the movement, lingering on her mouth for a long beat before it meets her own, and there’s a spark there that makes her heart speed up, that fans something within her she’s never allowed herself to acknowledge before. Heat pools at her core and spreads, just a flutter of anticipation but with the promise of more, and she feels herself sway towards him just slightly, without even really meaning to.

“Well, I’m open to what you have in mind,” she says, voice a little breathier than she would like, but she can’t mind too much. Not when Bellamy’s eyes darken and his tongue darts out to lick his lips. Not when he shifts forward slowly, giving her enough time to pull away if she wants to.

But she doesn’t.

She doesn’t at all, and so his hand finds her jaw, his thumb running softly over her cheek, and then he’s closing the distance, his mouth catching her own in a long, hard kiss. She feels herself whimper into it, when he slides his tongue past her lips smoothly, when he kisses her rough and deep, something almost desperate about it, and she lets herself meet him with it. Her hands scramble up to find his chest, to feel him properly, to pull him closer, and the flutter of anticipation turns to hunger, running into each touch of her lips against his, each slide of his tongue and each bite of her teeth. The hand cradling her jaw slides lower, running softly along the column of her neck and curving around her chest to give her a soft squeeze, and then his free one settles on her thigh, warm and weighty.

And then he’s pulling back, catching her eyes, and her heart hammers in her chest when she sees the question in his gaze. She nods, and he grins slowly.

“Relax, princess,” he murmurs, low and rough as he leans back in, and she lets herself, lets her eyes flutter shut and her back fall heavily against the seat.

His mouth finds her, hot and perfect as he presses wet open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck, as his hand moves closer to where she’s aching for him. He undoes the button of her jeans and she lets out a shaky breath, head falling to the side in response to his mouth and hips tilting slightly to give him better access. His hand settles over her, so close to where she needs him, and she curls her fingers into his hair when he lingers for a teasing moment, tightens them just slightly, enough for it to sting.

“Please, Bellamy,” she says, and then she feels the curve of his smile against her neck as his fingers slide past her folds, finding her hot and wet, so ready for him.

He presses against her clit, and when she lets out a strangled whimper, he chuckles, low and rough.

“You’re aching for it, aren’t you, Clarke?” Bellamy teases, and she gives his hair a hard tug, a warning. “Yeah, alright, I think you deserve to come.”

Thankfully, he must mean it, because he stops teasing her, instead sliding his fingers between her folds to get them nice and wet with her arousal, before finding her clit again, beginning to work her properly, rubbing small, tight circles into her. Heat pools at her core as his fingers draw out of a coiling kind of pleasure, and soon her hips are moving against him and she’s bringing his mouth back to hers, desperate to feel him close to her. She kisses him hot and wet, the perfect kind of messy as he speeds up his talented fingers, as he works her hard and fast, until her skin flushes with heat and her legs are trembling, until she’s gasping against his mouth, swallowing his muttered praise, until the pleasure curls hot and tight before crashing over her in a wave of release.

She lets out a broken moan as she comes, feeling herself clench around nothing and wishing she could feel him there, and Bellamy works her through it, mouth moving to her jaw as he eases his pressure on her clit. It’s another few minutes before she comes down enough to realise that she’s still holding him right to her, one hand still curled into his hair while the other is tugging on his top, and then another couple on top of that before she can manage a proper kiss, something slower and sweeter this time.

“Relaxed now?” Bellamy asks, voice a low murmur as he strokes her hip softly, and her laugh feels more like a breath. She is and he knows it, but he probably deserves a little cockiness after that performance.

“Extremely,” she says, and when his smile softens hers does too. He leans forward to kiss her again.

“Good. Now, you ready to try again?”

“Of course I am,” she says, taking a deep breath before moving to start the rover again.

She gets it on the first go this time.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For hiddenpolkadots on tumblr, Clarke has a beard kink and Bellamy has a beard

“Fuck, Bell, that feels good.”

“Mm?”

“Yeah,” Clarke breathes, arching into his touch slightly. She can feel him chuckle against her skin, that smug little laugh of his, but can’t bring herself to tell him off, not when she’s enjoying this so much.

His tongue circles her nipple, slow and teasing, and it sends a whisper of a shiver down her spine, has her squirming under him and whining softly. But he doesn’t let himself be urged on, keeps at the pace he wants and just presses a soft kiss to the swell of her breast in response, and she can’t even be surprised when the past half hour has been exactly like this.

Sometimes they like to go fast, get worked up so quickly that they’re aching for each other, desperate for the other’s mouth or hands on their skin, to feel the release they know they can give each other, and Clarke loves that, loves how Bellamy makes her feel in those moments. But there’s something so good about going _slow_ , too, about having the time to indulge, to let everything build.

And that’s the kind of night they’re having now, warm and tipsy and a little ridiculously in love after sharing a bottle of wine to celebrate Bellamy’s first year of teaching. They’d fallen into bed together a little while ago, and his mouth had found hers instantly, kissing her slow and deep, lips soft and perfect, making her chest swell with warmth, but with a hint of something more — the teasing bite of his teeth and the scratch of his scruff against her face that made her toes curl with anticipation. And it’s that pace that they’ve kept since, slow and building, simultaneously perfect and infuriating.

His hand had eventually crept up from her waist to find her breast, giving her a teasing squeeze, rubbing her nipples through her top, and his mouth found her neck when she needed a breath, the roughness perfect against her skin as he pressed hot kisses down to her collarbone. She let her hands wander under his top, feeling the warmth of his skin and pulling him closer, and he responded in kind by tugging hers off, eyes dark and hooded with desire when he saw the pink flush of her chest, the way she was already breathing hard.

“I’m gonna drive you crazy tonight, princess,” he had said, and so far he’s kept the promise, the perfect kind of teasing that’s winding her up slow and steady.

Now, he closes his mouth around her nipple, works her up just how he knows she likes, with flicks of his tongue and just a hint of teeth, laving at her until she feels the bud harden into a nice peak, the same attention he gave her first breast. It sends a pinch of pleasure to her cunt, and she pushes her hips up into him, trying to get some friction. She can already feel how wet she is.

“Bellamy,” she whines, and he chuckles again, leaning up slightly to look at her, meeting her needy gaze with a hungry one of his own.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, dropping his mouth to her collarbone and sucking lightly. He doesn’t sound sorry at all. “But you know I love your breasts.”

“You’re just lucky it actually gets me off,” she says, on a breath, and he bites at her, playful. “But I’m pretty sure I’m going to get beard-rash if you stay up here much longer.”

“Yeah, I think the ship has already sailed on that one,” Bellamy says, leaning in to nuzzle at her chest, as if to prove his point. “Besides, don’t think I haven’t noticed that you’re into my scruff.”

Clarke bites her lip, letting her eyes fall shut. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t,” Bellamy chuckles, shuffling down slightly to press his mouth just below her breasts. “You keep touching it whenever we kiss,” he says, continuing on his path down her stomach, planting hot open-mouthed kisses to her skin, sucking and biting enough that she’s sure he’s leaving a few marks along the way. “You specifically told me not to shave this morning.” He reaches her navel, nuzzles the soft swell of her stomach, and when the slight scratch of his beard makes her let out a soft, shaky sigh, he laughs. “Yeah, and then there’s that.”

“I’m just happy you’re finally going to eat me out,” Clarke tries, receiving a snort of laughter in response.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, princess,” Bellamy murmurs, and she can hear the smile in his voice, but can’t manage to be annoyed when he’s _finally_ curling his fingers into the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her legs slowly. “Deny it all you want, but I know you, and you’ve got a beard kink.”

She doesn’t respond, because she knows he’s got her, and she doesn’t want to risk that he’ll go even _slower_ if she’s stubborn about it. Instead, she just huffs a short breath and lets Bellamy have this one. He’s not _wrong,_ after all.

And apparently, it’s enough for Bellamy to start feeling a little kind, because he does start moving a little more quickly, mouth finding the inside of her knee and pressing a light, teasing kiss there. Another tingle of excitement runs up to her pussy, and she spreads her legs further, trying to urge him forward. He kisses a path up her thighs, sending jolts of anticipation to her core, and she’s already feeling so wound up from all the earlier teasing, that it’s really no surprise that she whines a little pathetically when he finally reaches her cunt. He nuzzles right at the top of her inner thigh, the slight scratch of it reminding Clarke of just how good he looks right now, giving her an edge of something _more_ that has her biting her lip hard, and then he’s circling an arm around her hips, hand settling over her cunt, the other going to her thigh and spreading her open just a little more.

When his fingers finally part her folds, Clarke sighs, head lolling to the side and fingers curling into the sheets. She really is so on edge already.

“God, baby, you’re so wet for me,” Bellamy murmurs, something like awe in his voice, and his fingers trail up and down her slit a few times, just gathering her arousal before he finds her clit and gives it a teasing rub. “This what happens when I tease you for so long? Look fucking gorgeous, princess.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke whines, and he rubs her hip soothingly.

“I know, baby, I know. I’ll take care of you.”

Finally, he leans in to her, getting his first taste of her as his tongue sweeps a long, slow lick up her slit. Her breath hitches, fingers tightening as she pushes into him, and he takes it with ease, lapping at her slowly, just these perfect strokes between her pussy lips, flicking her clit, adding to the building warmth at her core. And when he finally dips into her properly, she knows it won’t be long, not with how on edge she already is, not with how perfect his tongue feels as he presses it into her pussy, not when his fingers find her clit and begin rubbing in tight circles, and not when she can feel the scratch of his beard right at her cunt.

“God, Bell, that’s so good,” she mutters, hand leaving the sheets to instead find his hair, curling tight to pull him closer, and he only grunts, letting her take a little more control as he begins fucking her with his tongue.

And it feels so fucking perfect, this easy pleasure from his tongue and the sharper kind at her clit, and she feels the pulses take her higher. Heat starts to spread from her core, a tingling warmth running through her that has her thighs trembling where they’re settled over Bellamy’s shoulders, has her hips moving into him, getting what she needs, and finally, _finally,_ the tension that’s been building for what feels like hours breaks, and she comes hard, cunt fluttering around Bellamy’s tongue and hips arching up into him as words of praise spill from her mouth.

She’s panting by the time she finally comes down, somehow feeling both completely satisfied and hungry for more, and she tugs Bellamy up to her, catching his mouth and kissing him as best she can in her still-dazed state, tasting herself on his tongue and cradling his jaw, thumb sweeping over his scruff.

“So, I shouldn’t go shaving any time soon?” He asks when he pulls back, and she can’t help but laugh, breathy and a little fucked out.

“Yeah, it’s a good look,” she says, and he leans down to nuzzle at her cheek, teasing even when he’s giving her something she wants.

“And I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your beard kink.”

She bites back a smile, shaking her head a little. “Shut up and fuck me, Bellamy.”

He leans back up and grins at her, something wolfish and full of promise, his eyes dark but alight with both lust and love. “Yes, ma’am.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For katchyalater on tumblr, who asked for canonverse + heated argument becomes angry, i’m-still-pissed-at-you-but-also-i-need-to-hit-that-immediately hooking up

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Bellamy looks up from where he’s studying a map to find Clarke at his door, eyes blazing and jaw working as she looks at him, skin flushed pink in that way it gets when she’s angry. He was expecting her, but it still sends a jolt through his body, makes it come alight with the feeling of having her close after so long.

“Clarke,” he says, turning towards her, but she shakes her head, closing the door behind her before walking up to him.

“We need to make a move, Bellamy,” she says, pressing a hard finger to his chest, and he tries not to think about the last time she touched him there, over six years ago now. “These people will only respond to force.”

“We need to regroup,” he counters, taking her hand in his own and lowering it from his chest, but she pulls it from him quickly, fiercely. Still, a flicker of electricity spreads from the point of contact, and he marvels in it, because she’s here, real and alive in front of him, and that’s more than he ever could’ve hoped for. “We don’t have the technology, Clarke,” he tries to reason. “If we try to go up against them right now, even with our best fighters, we’ll lose.”

“You don’t know that. We could plan an attack that would disable—”

“Too reckless,” he cuts in.

She huffs, arms coming up to cross over her chest, and his eyes dip momentarily to see the way it pushes her breasts together, already looking way too good in that black tank of hers. When he meets her gaze again, she’s smirking slightly, somewhat triumphantly, but she doesn’t let it derail her.

“Then we can send someone in undercover—”

“Too risky.”

“It’s not! If you would just—”

“Clarke,” he says, his voice going loud and sharp, enough that her mouth snaps shut, that her eyes flash with surprise. “Think about this rationally.”

Her jaw works, and he watches the way her gaze turns hard, the way she readjusts her stance to something defiant, and part of him hates himself for saying it, for using that against her.

It’s not that they’ve never disagreed on strategy before, never fought about logistics or had heated discussions around tactical decisions, but with six years of separation between them, the weight of this argument feels worse. Because it’s the realisation that the Clarke he knew, the one who would consider all options before making a decision, isn’t the Clarke who’s standing in front of him now, that the Bellamy she was expecting to return to her, the one who would’ve agreed with her plan, isn’t the one that came back.

And that’s not an easy thing to reconcile.

“I am thinking about this rationally,” Clarke says, after a moment, her voice going hard, and he feels something in his chest crackle alive at the sound of it. That, at least, hasn’t changed. “You’re the one who’s being unreasonable. We can’t keep being so — overly cautious. At some point, we need to actually _do_ something. And from how you seem to be thinking, by the time we finally make our move, it’ll be too late.”

“So you’d rather go on a suicide mission than wait?” He baits, raising an eyebrow at her, and he sees the way she swallows hard, sees the way something dark flickers in her eyes.

“Fuck you, Bellamy,” she says, taking a step towards him, and when she tilts her head back a little more to keep her eyes locked on his, he ignores the way it exposes the column of her neck, creamy skin beginning to flush a nice pink. “You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Her eyes drop down to trail over him, slow and assessing, and when she meets his gaze again, there’s a challenge there, something bold that has heat rushing through him. “I’m saying: convince me,” she says, pressing a hand back to his chest and stepping forward again, forcing him to adjust in kind.

His jaw works as he feels himself urged closer to the wall, as he recognises the way his heart begins to speed up. “What?” He asks, and even he can hear the drop in his voice.

“If you’re so sure you’re right and I’m wrong, then tell me why right now, and I’ll listen with an open mind.”

“I _know_ I’m right and you’re wrong.”

“Yeah?” She asks, eyes flicking down to his lips before meeting his own again, dark with something he thinks is desire. “Then convince me.”

There’s a long beat where neither of them move, neither of them speak, and it’s just the sound of their breathing and the feeling of electricity beginning to crackle between them, but then Bellamy swears, the temptation finally too much, and his mouth is on hers in seconds.

She whimpers into it, a moment of surprise that gives him the upper hand, but responds only a second later, opening up for him when he slides his tongue past the seam of her lips, meeting him in a kiss that’s hot and demanding from the start. His hands find her hips, feeling leather under his touch, something that makes his mind spin a little, and he slides them to her ass, giving her a hard squeeze as he pulls her closer. She answers in kind, not letting him have anything without making a move of her own, the hand on his chest pushing him until he’s backed up against the wall, the slight disadvantage something he’s willing to concede when she then trails her hand up to curl tight into his hair, when the other comes between them to feel him up, where his cock is beginning to stir.

He feels the curve of what he knows is a smirk against his mouth as she starts rubbing at him over his pants, and he doesn’t let himself think about how good the expression must look on her, only tries to kiss her harder, kiss her breathless with the rough press of his mouth, with the insistent slide of his tongue and the sharp bite he scrapes to her lower lip. When she whines, he knows he has her, and it’s his turn to smile, pulling back to look at her, finding her eyes dark and half-lidded with need.

They’re both breathing hard, watching each other hungrily, and it’s another moment of electricity as the anticipation builds, the tension just waiting to be broken.

Clarke’s tongue darts out to lick her lips, and Bellamy’s hands run a slow sweep over her ass. Her chest rises and falls with a long, shaky breath, and his hips jerk into her touch when she gives his cock another squeeze.

“Alright,” Bellamy finally says, voice deep and rough. “You’ve had your fun.”

Clarke smirks, eyes flashing with heat and defiance, all at once. “Not yet, I haven’t,” she says, and finally it’s too much, the way she looks, so fucking hot he almost can’t take it, the way her voice has shifted into something low and fucked out, and his hands move to her hips, flex hard as he turns them around, reversing their positions in an instant, getting Clarke backed up against the wall as he presses against her, as he gets his mouth back on hers, unable to do anything but kiss her.

He finds the button to her trousers, swallowing the moan she lets out as his hand slides into her panties and over her cunt, as his fingers press past her folds to find her hot and wet for him, so perfect he almost can’t breath for a second. He gets two fingers on her clit, and she whimpers in response, hands fumbling with his own jeans to get them open and tug them down, and then she’s pulling his cock free from his briefs, hand warm and just rough enough as it curls around him, and he loses any semblance of self-control.

He breaks their kiss to tug everything separating him from her down and off, keeping his eyes locked on Clarke’s as he stands again, as his hands settle on the backs of her thighs and he lifts her up and back against the wall, feeling her so close to him. She strokes his cock, hard and hot in her hand, before trailing it up between the lips of her pussy, getting the head slick with her arousal and lining him up at her entrance.

And fuck, he wishes he could go slow, wishes he could fuck her good and long, draw it out and indulge in her like he wants to, but he can’t, not now that it’s actually happening, Clarke here and solid and real under his hands, against his mouth, responding to each and every touch he gives her. Not when he’s finally letting himself think about how fucking good she looks now, six years later, hair cropped short and tits perfect in that tank of hers, pants tight and making her ass look incredible — just _something_ about her, something that’s always been there, that he recognises from before, but has grown bolder and more self-assured with time.

He wishes he could savour it, but right now he needs her too much.

He pushes into her slowly, giving her time to adjust, but apparently she doesn’t need or want it, because all she does is raise her jaw somewhat defiantly as she wraps her legs around him properly, pressing on his ass to urge him on, and when he sinks into her completely, he swears, head dropping back with the feel of her around him, wet and tight and so fucking good he’s not sure he’ll ever get enough of her.

“Come on, Bellamy,” Clarke mutters, and he looks back at her, hands flexing hard on her thighs as she circles her arms around his shoulders, as her fingers find their way back to his curls, giving him a little tug.

She’s still angry with him, he can see it in the clench of her jaw, in her eyes, the way they blaze dark with more than just desire, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t find it hot, that it didn’t send flickers of heat all through him, adding to his own pent up annoyance and urging him to channel it in this way.

He pulls out of her before thrusting back in, hard and fast, and when she whimpers, he does it again, watching her closely, the way she responds, eyes fluttering shut for just a quick moment, legs drawing him impossibly closer. It’s all he needs to know that that’s how she wants him, and it’s easy to let himself continue that way, settle into a quick and demanding rhythm, fucking up into her as she begins to push down onto him the best she can, let the frustration and irritation that still pulses hot in his veins from their fight pour into each shift of his hips, each clench of his fingers as he gives it to her good and rough, just how he knows she wants it — _needs_ it.

“Fuck, Bellamy,” she whines, biting at her lip and worrying it red, and Bellamy feels himself growl, leaning forward to catch it instead, kissing her hard and quick, more teeth than tongue.

“What do you need?” He asks, voice low and rough, pulling back to catch her gaze and feeling a surge of heat run through him when she holds it.

“My clit,” she says, completely unabashed, all but bursting at the seams with need. “God, your fingers on my clit.”

Bellamy swears, readjusting his hold on her as his hand settles at her cunt, fingers sliding past her folds and finding her clit, hot and wet under his touch. He doesn’t tease, not when he knows how desperate she is and not when he feels his own need building quickly, just starts rubbing tight circles into her, watching as she responds gorgeously, mouth falling open in a silent whimper, legs beginning to tremble around him.

Heat pools at the base of his spine and he catches Clarke’s mouth in another kiss, keeping the same pace with the slide of his mouth on hers as he does fucking up into her, and he feels his mind begin to unravel with how much it all is, Clarke, Clarke, _Clarke,_ against him, around him, overwhelming all of his senses, and he’s sure he won’t last much longer, sure he’s going to lose it any second, when she finally comes, letting out a broken moan as her cunt clenches hot and tight around his cock. He mutters a swear and thrusts only three more times, and then he’s gone himself, the pressure that’s built up too much. His balls pull tight, cock swelling as he spills into her, and everything other than Clarke and how fucking perfect she feels around him falls away as he comes hard.

His face is crooked in her neck when he comes down, and he pulls back to see that she’s still breathing hard, squirming slightly in his hold, watches as her eyes flutter open after a long moment, catching his gaze. He can see her irritation already coming back through the haze of pleasure, feels his own return with hot, frustrated sparks in his chest.

“Well?” He husks out, after a beat of silence, and she cocks an eyebrow at him in question. “Did I convince you?”

She barks out a laugh, jaw working before she sets it defiantly. “You didn’t convince me of _shit._ ”

He nods, eyes flitting over her face for just a second before he adjusts his hold on her, settling her on the ground so he can pull out. He turns around then, tucking himself back into his jeans, giving Clarke the privacy to get herself in order, too. When he looks back at her, her arms are crossed over her chest as she leans against the wall, still not looking completely steady on her feet. It makes him smirk.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he says, enjoying the way her eyes flash with the nickname. “The plan’s still not going to change.”

She watches him for a long moment, that sharp, assessing gaze of hers, and then she’s pushing off the wall, mouth shifting into something sly as she walks over to him.

“Yes it is,” she says, once again pressing a hand to his chest, this time urging him towards his bed, and he already feels the tension once again building between them. His eyes drop to her mouth, worried red and puffy from his earlier work, to the pretty pink flush that’s creeping up her chest. When he looks at her again, she’s smirking, another challenge in her gaze that has his heart speeding up, that makes his whole body come alight with anticipation. “This time, I’ll just be the one doing the convincing.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smutty follow up to chapter 21 "I accidentally drunk called you thinking you were my ex that I hate" i.e. cunnilingus

“So, I hear I’m pretty good at cunnilingus.”

Clarke groans, dropping her face into the crook of Bellamy’s neck as his chest rumbles with laughter.

She’s not _actually_ embarrassed, can’t find it in herself to be when she’s so happy _,_ but it’s safe to say she probably won’t be living this down for a while. Not that she doesn’t deserve the teasing, because she definitely does. Accidentally drunkenly confessing that you’re in love with someone while not even realising _you’re_ _on the phone to them_ is the kind of thing that qualifies for getting laughed at.

“Shut up,” she mutters, and has to bite back a smile when Bellamy starts rubbing her back, placating. He can’t really stop touching her. Not that she can blame him; she can’t really stop touching him either.

“You told me I could ask you about it today,” he points out, voice warm and teasing, nosing at her hair a little. “In fact, if I remember correctly, which I think I do — a lot better than you, anyway — you definitely asked me to bring it up.”

“You can’t hold my drunken words against me.”

“No?”

There’s no hint of worry in his voice, and his body remains completely relaxed under hers; nothing about him indicates he thinks she might regret what she said, or anything that’s happened today, but still, she pulls back, leaning up on Bellamy’s chest to look down at him with a stupidly big smile on her face, one he returns easily. His eyes are brighter than she can ever really remember seeing, hair a mess from how much she’s played with it, and his skin is warm and golden in the late morning light. It’s a lot to deal with, but she manages.

“Okay, you can. But only when I tell you sober as well.”

His face somehow softens even _more,_ and her heart flips in her chest.

“Which you did,” he says, no longer talking about her praise for his oral skills, still sounding vaguely awed.

“Which I did,” she agrees, ducking her head on a small laugh.

She didn’t waste much time in finding him this morning — in the kitchen, after spending the night on the couch — to make good on the promise she gave him last night and tell him she loved him, sober and in full control of her words. He said it right back, smile wide and perfect as he looked down at her, and when he kissed her, she all but melted into him, the last week of anxiety fading away with the feel of his lips on hers, the sound of his words echoing in her head, replaced with a warmth that spread through her whole body, the early thrumming of need at her core.

They managed to control themselves enough to eat some breakfast, to accept Raven’s teasing as she left the apartment and pointedly said she’d be out _all day_ , but it wasn’t long before Clarke was tugging Bellamy back in for another kiss, pulling him into her room and pushing him onto her bed. Which is where they’ve been ever since, kissing and talking and laughing and fucking, naked and holding onto each other, unable to really get enough.

And Clarke will admit, she was kind of surprised when Bellamy didn’t go down on her basically immediately, that even now after a few hours he still hasn’t, after everything she said, but apparently he’s been building to it. The fucking dork.

She looks back at him again, bites at her bottom lip and doesn’t miss the way Bellamy tracks the movement, his eyes darkening slightly.

“So, I guess I should go on the record about this as well, then,” she says, hands sliding up his chest the thread into his curls, tug just a little. “Bellamy Blake: really good at cunnilingus.”

He chuckles, but the sound is low and rough, and when one of his hands slides down her back to give her ass a squeeze, the other coming up to settle on the back of her neck, pulling her closer, she feels the familiar flickers of heat from his touch.

“Just really good, hm?” He murmurs, so close she can almost taste him.

“I don’t know,” Clarke says, her voice not much more than a breath now. “You might need to remind me.”

She barely gets the words out before Bellamy’s pulling her down, catching her mouth in a hot and hard kiss, and she feels herself whine when he deepens it instantly, tongue sliding past her lips to taste her properly, teeth nipping a her just slightly. His hands find her hips and she’s expecting him to roll them over, get her on her back beneath him and press his lips to her skin, mouth his way down her body, but instead he helps her straddle him properly, urging her to move her legs either side of his waist as he kisses her harder, longer, hot and wet and perfect.

It’s nothing Clarke minds, can’t with how _good_ Bellamy feels under her, but she’ll admit that she’s beginning to get a little desperate again, that the need at her core is starting to spread, heat thrumming beneath her skin and arousal pooling at her cunt, and she’ll probably be urging _him_ on soon.

But apparently Bellamy wasn’t actually planning on making her wait, he just had a different position in mind.

He breaks away from the kiss just as Clarke starts to grind a little against his stomach, breathing hard as he looks up at her with half-lidded eyes, a wolfish grin on his face. Slowly, pointedly, his hands slide back to her ass, giving her a rough squeeze before he urges her forward. It doesn’t click straight away, and Bellamy’s mouth tugs up even higher.

“Come on, princess,” he murmurs, voice a low rumble as he gives her another squeeze. “Get up here.”

It dawns on her all at once, and Clarke feels herself flush immediately, feels herself get even wetter as she realises what Bellamy wants — her, straddling his face, _riding him._

“Yeah?” She asks, and he just chuckles, leans up to steal another kiss from her, quick and sharp.

“Yeah,” he says, and this time when his hands urge her on, she begins to move easily, eagerly. “Lemme taste you, babe.”

“Fuck,” she breathes out, nodding as she moves up his body. “Yeah, fuck, of course.”

He shuffles down a little, giving her enough room at the head of the bed, and she continues forward until she’s straddling him, thighs either side of his face and pussy brushing lightly over his mouth. A whisper of pleasure runs down her spine, and when Bellamy’s hands move back to her hips to bring her down just slightly, settling her over him properly, she feels it again, stronger this time, straight to her cunt. She gets her hands on the headboard and closes her eyes, lets out a shaky breath as Bellamy leans in to get his first proper taste of her, tongue sliding between the lips of her pussy.

“Fuck,” she murmurs, and he gives her a soft squeeze in response.

He starts slowly, just lapping at her, tongue swirling teasingly around her clit, easing her into it while she gets used to the feel of being on top of him like this. It doesn’t take long, of course, not when it’s _Bellamy_ , and not when she can already feel how desperate she’s getting, anticipation prickling at her skin and heat pooling at her cunt.

She begins rocking her hips against him, giving herself more control, and Bellamy responds easily, letting her take what she needs from his mouth, urging her on with pleased little noises against her cunt, with the feel of his hands rough and perfect on her hips. It builds, and Clarke starts to grind on him harder, faster, finding the perfect pressure, the perfect rhythm, sparks of pleasure beginning to curl into hot tension at her core. She feels her thighs start to tremble and her skin begin to flush, and she drops a hand down to Bellamy, curling her fingers tight into his hair, something to anchor herself to.

“I’m close,” she says, the words coming out breathy, and Bellamy groans into her, helps her roll her hips into him just once, twice, three times more before the tension breaks and she comes with a broken moan.

Release crashes over her as waves of pleasure roll through her, and Bellamy takes control again as she shakes above him, works her through it with gentle laps of his tongue on her clit, making her feel like magic, until she has to push him away, too sensitive.

It takes her a minute to come down enough to get her legs working again, and Bellamy helps her, thumbs running soothingly over her hips as he guides her back down to him, helping her settle half on top of him again. She finds his mouth immediately, catching it in a slow, easy kiss, and can’t help but whimper a little at the taste of herself on his tongue.

“So, I hear I’m pretty good at cunnilingus,” Bellamy murmurs when she pulls back, voice rough and perfect, and Clarke just laughs, once again dropping her head into the crook of his neck. He runs his hand up her back and she presses her lips to his skin.

“Yeah,” she says, unable to fight her smile this time. “Pretty damn good.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can send me prompts at [bisexualbellamyblake](http://bisexualbellamyblake.tumblr.com/) if you'd like :)  
> Comments/kudos are always appreciated!


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